Schemes vs Seduction
by Rairakku Hana
Summary: Lady Orihime Inoue decides to shake up her staid existence and drags her over-protective friend along for the ride. In doing so, she'll change both their lives -but will it be for the better? Ichihime AU; Regency England
1. Chapter 1

**Schemes vs. Seduction **

Chapter One: The fine art of being over-protective

Bleach; Ichihime AU Regency England

Word Count: 1481

Warning: none

Disclaimer: all characters herein are the property of Kubo Tite.

*My contribution to this year's FLOL Writing Challenge*

I collaborated with the lovely and talented Child of the Ashes on this project. She created a beautiful piece of art that complements this story perfectly. It can be found here (please remove the spaces): http:/ child-of-the-ashes. deviantart. com/ art/ FLOL-Fanwork-Challenge-253302134

Thank you, Child of the Ashes; it was a pleasure working with you.

**~o0o~**

Snapping his pocket watch closed, Ichigo threw in his hand before giving up his seat to a young buck watching the ongoing game. He nodded across the table to his friend, letting him know he was off to greener pastures and company more amiable than those present. Renji shook his head and tossed a chip on the pile, smirking. After three months of rusticating in the country, any man would be apt to search out sweeter company than that found in the stuffy card room.

Stopping in the doorway to the packed ballroom, Ichigo, Lord Kurosaki, the only son of Isshin and Masaki Kurosaki and heir to the Earldom of Blackpoint, straightened his pattern waistcoat and scowled at the tightly packed bodies between him and his escape. He had done his duty and showed up. Some meddlesome dowager would undoubtedly inform his mother tomorrow over tea that he was unpleasant as always and didn't stand up for even a single dance. True. However, his mother hadn't asked him to dance, only to simply attend. And he had done so.

Now, he could leave. But first…

As was habit for him, Ichigo withdrew to a spot hidden from the room at large but one that still afforded him a clear view of the packed dance floor and scanned the crowd, searching. He couldn't leave without first seeing that a certain someone was present and accounted for. He frowned when he instead spotted another familiar face standing uncharacteristically alone at the edge of the floor.

"Why aren't you dancing?"

Starting at the gruff voice coming from behind her shoulder, Rukia Kuchiki, sister of the Marquise of Rotterwood, snapped her fan closed and lifted her chin as Ichigo stepped into the minuscule open space at her side. "I'm still waiting for someone to ask me."

"Not me I hope?" His mouth curved down at the corners, horrified at the thought of dancing in this crush.

"Heavens no, not you." she muttered scathingly, hiding an unladylike snort behind her painted fan. "You're the last person I'd wish to dance with. No offense, but your dark scowl would have these timid young misses fainting dead away. What a tedious pain that would be."

Ichigo glanced down at the top of her head. Her short black hair was styled in a nimbus of curls that surrounded her delicate face and her unfussy high waisted gown of primrose-yellow silk complimented her without overwhelming her petite frame. A beautiful woman like her shouldn't have to linger at the fringes of the dance floor alone. "He's in the card room playing Loo if you'd like me to flush him out."

Rukia tensed. "Thank you, but no. He knows where I am. Once he realizes my brother has already left for the evening, he'll find me himself." She looked pointedly up at him, "Without any interference from you."

Shrugging inwardly, Ichigo returned to looking over the crowd. If he could just find who he was looking for, then he could leave with a clear conscience. Impatient with his search, his long fingers, clad in formal white gloves, threaded through his bright orange hair, destroying his long-suffering valet's earlier work of taming the unruly locks.

From the corner of his eye, a flash of bright peacock blue skirts caught his attention and his eyes unerringly lifted to the vexing white lace cap covering an unmistakable mass of russet colored curls. There she was. Watching her dip and turn in step with the music, he relaxed until she turned once more and he saw her face. Her mobile mouth was curved up in delight, but her eyes weren't smiling.

His expression automatically hardened. "What's wrong with Orihime?"

His abysmally short companion stood on tiptoe to see, tilting her head this way and that before giving him an odd look. "Nothing's wrong. She's smiling and dancing, obviously having a wonderful time."

"I wouldn't go that far. She's holding herself stiffly and there's something about her eyes …"

"Being critical, are we?" she murmured acerbically and nodded pleasantly in greeting to a passing matron before continuing. "While you may not see Orihime as attractive, other men-"

"Stop trying to put words in my mouth; of course I find her attractive."

She looked at him doubtfully. "One would never know to see you two together. You seem more like siblings, with you playing the part of overprotective brother."

He ignored her comment. It was one he'd heard many times before, even if it wasn't true. Ichigo wasn't trying to replace Orihime's late brother by any stretch of the imagination; they were just simply very close. Over the years, they've had to defend their unique relationship to many close-minded people who didn't believe a man and a woman could actually be friends. Thankfully, hardly anyone gave it a second thought when the two of them were seen together anymore. There was nothing objectionable about their conduct so they were left to carry on in their own fashion without censure.

"You'll have to excuse me, I'm expected elsewhere." Ichigo finally said after giving one last look in Orihime's direction. He'd call on her first thing tomorrow, just to be certain everything was all right and nothing untoward cropped up while he was away in the country overseeing his new property.

Rukia's indigo eyes sparkled with curiosity and she asked with husky laugh, "A prior engagement with a woman, perhaps?"

He straightened his cuffs with a practiced move and scowled. "You shouldn't ask such a thing."

"I don't see why not." She shrugged her shoulders unrepentantly before pressing for an answer. "So, is it?"

Absorbed with watching Orihime's partner waltz her down the room in line with the other dancers, or more specifically, he was watching her partner's hand …one that was drifting lower than what was proper.

Nudged from his brown study by a well-placed elbow, Ichigo glanced at Rukia blankly.

Twisting her lips in aggravation, she pointedly reminded him of her query. "Is your appointment with a woman?"

Clenching his jaw, Ichigo held back the words he would have said if they were alone. A more nosey and tenacious woman he'd never met. It was a good thing they were such good friends. He mused while grinding his teeth when Rukia arched a finely drawn brow, clearly drawing her own conclusion.

"I'll take that as a yes." She frowned and turned back to the face the dancers. "Your mother would rather you focus your considerable energies on finding your own wife than playing with the bored ones littering the ton."

He blew out a breath, not wanting to hear anything more she might have to say on that particular subject. Listening to his mother drop subtle –and some not so subtle- hints was more than enough for him. No one ever wanted to disappoint Masaki Kurosaki, least of all him. However, Ichigo just wasn't ready to be caught in the parson's mousetrap just yet.

Ready to abandon this conversation before it strayed further –and it was already improper enough- Ichigo murmured a hasty, "Good night, Rukia." And dipped his head in farewell before turning to thread his way through the over-dressed, over-perfumed, and overly self-important crush of bodies.

The music ended, hindering his progress even more as the dancers returned to mingle along the already packed edges of the room. Hearing his name, he glanced back in irritation, brows furrowed. His annoyance was short lived when he saw Orihime, her pristine white glove cutting an arc through the air as she waved. Smiling widely, her brown eyes shone happily at catching him before he left, not caring in the least about the scandalized looks sent her way.

That was Orihime for you. Eccentric extraordinaire. The daughter of an earl, a self-proclaimed spinster, financially independent, an unashamed bluestocking, and a patroness of the Foundling Hospital in Bloomsbury –as well as a frequent volunteer. She was an anomaly among the ton. Nonetheless, from the loose copper curls piled haphazardly on top of her head to the tips of her beaded dancing slippers, Ichigo adored his friend just the way she was. She was like a breath of fresh air in the stuffy world of theirs. And he hoped she never changed.

Unbeknownst to Ichigo, a crooked smile replaced his normal scowl as his eyes moved over her familiar face. He shook his head in amusement before nodding in return and her smile grew.

There it was. The smile he was looking for.

As he made his way up the stairs after finally making good on his escape, Ichigo assumed he must have been worried over nothing. Orihime was the same as always. Nothing's changed.

He should have known better though, and listened to his instincts. Because things never really stay the same. Change was inevitable. And Ichigo Kurosaki's well-ordered life was about to be shaken from its very foundations.

**~o0o~**

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first part of this story. It will be a lighthearted -and none too serious- romp through Regency England with, at the very most, ten smallish chapters.

Thanks so much for reading. ~Rairakku


	2. Chapter 2

**Schemes vs. Seduction **

Chapter Two: Dreams are a funny thing

Bleach; Ichihime AU Regency England

Word Count: 3650

Warning: none

Disclaimer: all characters herein are the property of Kubo Tite.

*2011 FLOL Writing Challenge*

Fanart for this project, created by the talented Child of the Ashes, can be found here (remove the spaces): http:/ child-of-the-ashes. deviantart. com/ art/ FLOL-Fanwork-Challenge-253302134

**~o0o~**

A shaft of morning light pierced through a gap in the curtains and painted a bright swathe across the big four-poster bed. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. And, there were hot scones –currant by the smell- on the bedside table.

It should have been the perfect start to her day …

Laying amid her rumbled covers, Lady Orihime Inoue, sister of the late Earl of Highwell, and daughter of the previous drunken Earl, stared at the gauzy tester above her bed while her maid bustled around the dim room. It was time to get up, but Orihime's mind was in a whirl as she pondered her waking dream. It was shocking –unthinkable, really- and yet, so very tempting.

Her dream showed her another path than the one she was currently walking. It was something she hadn't allowed herself to think of before –well not seriously anyway, and definitely not in the years since her brother passed on. However, her dream wasn't the only reason she was at sixes and sevens this morning.

She had Ichigo returning to Town to thank for that.

He arrived earlier in the week, but she hadn't chanced upon him until last night. She had been so happy to see him at a social event and wished they could have talked, if only for a moment. Orihime recognized that impatient look in his eyes though; he had other plans. Her fingers pleated the stitched cotton coverlet as she idly wondered who his latest conquest was: Lady Denham or maybe the not-so Honorable Agnes Birtwistle …

Slapping her arms against the covers, she pushed the vulgar speculation from her mind and kicked free of her blankets. What Ichigo did in his private life didn't concern her. She was his friend, not his conscience. They agreed several years back not to meddle in each other's lives after they argued –for weeks- over her volunteering her time at the foundling hospital.

Supporting a charitable cause with her money was acceptable. However, working directly with the children living there was something altogether different to Ichigo's mind, telling her it wasn't at all proper and quite possibly dangerous. _Poppycock_. Sora's brush with a green horse outside the hospital's gates had been a terrible accident, nothing more. The children inside were not responsible for his death.

Blinking away moisture welling at the corners of her eyes, Orihime remembered how –in the end- her and Ichigo had agreed to disagree. Still wearing half-mourning for her brother, she started working at the hospital, reading to the little ones and teaching the older ones their letters, while Ichigo pursued a popular opera singer, one with breasts almost as big as her voice…

Why was she even thinking about that? It happened years ago. Besides, this was no time to lie abed; she decided she had plans of her own to set into motion. She wasn't getting any younger after all. There were calls to make, correspondence to write, lists to make …and scones to eat.

With that thought in mind, she grabbed a still warm biscuit and bit into the crumbly bit of goodness. Ahh, heavenly. She groaned and licked the crumbs from the corner of mouth before grudgingly surrendering her breakfast to accept a steaming cup of tea from her maid, Peggy.

Throwing open the heavy drapes, allowing the mid-morning sunlight to shine in, Peggy bustled towards the connecting door to Orihime's dressing room. "There's a bit of a nip in the air this morning, would you prefer the blue worsted or the green merino?"

"Hmm …" Orihime set her cup down thoughtlessly on the edge of the tray, lost in the many thoughts crowding her mind. Coming to a decision, she punched a small fist against her opened palm. "Neither. I feel like wearing pink today."

Racing forward to rescue the china cup before it could crash to the floor; Peggy quickly looked up, her mouth hanging open in surprise. "P-pink?"

Nodding in affirmation, Orihime shrugged into the dressing gown lying at the foot of her bed. She wandered to the window looking over her small back garden and popped the corner of her biscuit in her mouth, thinking. For several months now she'd been plagued by a feeling that something was missing in her life. There was no reason she should feel dissatisfaction though. She was living life exactly as she pleased. Her work at the foundling hospital was fulfilling, her calendar was full of entertainments, and she had many wonderful friends. However …

Last night's dream felt real. So real in fact that Orihime was disappointed to wake and find it was only a figment of her imagination. And she found she wanted her dream to become her new reality, desperately. But how does one turn dreams into reality?

Orihime allowed Peggy to dress her for the day, all the while pondering this dilemma until it finally came to her. Turning with a swish of rose-pink striped skirts, she forced herself to stand patiently while her maid buttoned the day gown up the back. Crossing the room to her writing desk the moment she was done, Orihime told Peggy she could do her hair in a moment. She needed to talk to Rukia immediately, sooner than soon, now.

Tugging a piece of stationery paper free, she laid it on the blotter and flicked the silver-capped inkwell open. Dipping her pen in the ink, Orihime paused with the nib poised over the paper for a moment before committing herself fully as she dashed off a quick note asking Rukia to come earlier than the three o'clock tea they planned earlier in the week. She wouldn't be able to wait that long to get started.

"Peggy," Orihime called for her maid as she blotted the paper. She folded and addressed her missive, waving it through the air to dry before holding it out to her long-suffering maid with a pleading smile. "Have this sent over to Rotterwood right away. Tell them there won't be an answer."

Well used to the constant stream of correspondence that seemed to fly between Rotterwood House in Knightsbridge and Orihime's more modest townhouse in Mayfair, Peggy took the folded note and called one of the footmen stationed in the hall to see that they delivered the missive posthaste before returning to finish her mistress's morning toilet.

Bent over her rosewood escritoire, Orihime's pink clad bottom wiggled from side to side as she pulled a large piece of foolscap from a drawer. Her excitement was building, so much so, she couldn't even stand still, let alone sit demurely on her chair as was expected. Placing the paper on the center of her desk, she nibbled on the edge of her lip while staring at the blank sheet. _This will surely be the list that changes my life._ She mused philosophically before beginning.

She lifted her head moments later at the sound of light scratching on her bedroom door. Her pen hovered in midair while Peggy swung the door open to reveal her butler, Giles.

"Lord Kurosaki has arrived and asks if you are receiving visitors."

Ichigo? She had a feeling he'd call today but in all honesty, she wasn't expecting him until later. Glancing at the small clock on the mantle, Orihime's brows shot up in surprise. Half past one? Was it that time already? Her list making must have taken longer than she thought.

"Shall I tell him you're not in?"

She shook her head, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. "Please show Lord Kurosaki to the drawing room and tell him I'll be right down." Her butler bowed respectfully and Orihime called after him before he could leave. "Oh, and see that you send a tray of coffee. He'll be grumpy otherwise." She requested, knowing how cranky Ichigo could be after a night out, and continued adding to her list, not paying attention as her maid and butler whispered conspiratorially near the door.

Meanwhile, Ichigo was left cooling his heels in Orihime's entry. His foot tapped a steady cadence against the polished marble floor as his irritation mounted. He'd been friends with Orihime since their early teens and came to visit her often while in Town. His mother was the one who presented Orihime at court to make her curtsy to the Queen before her come out. He even came down from school to be at her side when her brother died from a senseless accident at the age of 32. But her stiffly starched butler continued to treat him as nothing more than a chance acquaintance …and an unwelcome one at that.

Rolling his eyes at Giles' suspicious treatment, his gaze landed on the silver salver placed on a nearby hall table and his foot stopped its repetitious tapping. Ichigo wasn't surprised to see that it already held any number of calling cards and a nosegay or two of spring flowers. Orihime was a popular entity among the glittering and self-absorbed mass that made up their world. Even though she'd taken to wearing a cap and calling herself an on-the-shelf spinster, men still fawned on her. Thankfully, they were the type to worship her from afar rather than trying to possess, otherwise Ichigo'd never be able to let her out of his sight.

Thinking of Rukia's rankling comment from the night before, he was quick to point out –if only to himself- that it was only because Orihime was his dear friend and alone in the world, not because he thought of her as a sister.

Ichigo wasn't certain why the distinction was necessary, only that it was …

Giles returned as silently as he'd left, surprising Ichigo from his thoughts. Her butler ushered him upstairs into a cheery room overlooking the street. Looking around the high ceilinged room, his eyes flicked from the impressive chandelier hanging in the center to the many mirrors lining the walls to the thick Axminster carpet beneath his feet, and felt his shoulders relax, so far nothing had changed in her house either. No scandalous statuary. No exotic animals. No new charitable organization that required her to house a bevy of guttersnipes in her music room. Even so, Ichigo still couldn't shake the feeling –however vague- that there was change in the air concerning Orihime.

Giles coughed discreetly from his position near the doors and murmured. "I was informed the Lady Orihime is feeling pink today."

That feeling wasn't so vague all of a sudden …

"Oh God, not pink?" Ichigo blasphemed unthinkingly, coming to a dead stop. He glanced over his shoulder, hoping Giles wasn't serious. He was. His butler's training wouldn't allow his apprehension to show in either his expression or carriage, but Ichigo knew. Orihime was planning something. Something life changing.

Orihime infamously wore pink -or lighter shades of mauve when she went out- for two weeks solid when deciding to continue her brother's work at the foundling hospital. Instead of reentering the social whirl after her mourning ended, she volunteered, at the age of ten and eight, to work with the abandoned and orphaned children …all the while, stubbornly refusing to listen to him. Her mind was made up and Ichigo was left with no recourse but accept her decision. However, that didn't stop him from silently promising to watch over her and make certain she came to no harm. That was over seven years ago …

"Lady Orihime will be with you shortly …" Giles backed from the room with a bow and reached out to pull the double doors closed, "After first finishing her list."

A list too?_ Heaven help us all._ Ichigo muttered under his breath as Giles made a low sound of agreement before the doors closed with an almost inaudible click. She was wearing pink and making lists? This was serious stuff indeed.

Orihime arrived some ten minutes later, fast on the heels of her butler as Giles made delivery of the coffee tray. She bounced into the room, a bright smile curling her lips. "Ichigo!" she held her hands out to him as he stood.

"Good morning, Orihime." He folded his fingers over her small hands and gave them a quick squeeze.

Ichigo resumed his seat after Orihime first sat on the blue brocade chaise opposite of him. Exchanging small talk about his trip to the country, the weather, and Renji and Rukia's stalled courtship, she fixed a cup of coffee just the way he liked it –dash of cream, two sugars- while he looked her over from under lowered brows. Giles was correct. Orihime was indeed in a pink mood. Her striped high collar day gown was pink, pink slippers peeked out from under the hem of said gown, even the lace cap she insisted on wearing over her hair was edged in pink.

His eyes strayed back to the lace cap that marked her as a spinster. A wholly unnecessary accessory in his opinion. His mouth thinned with displeasure before he forcibly relaxed his expression. "Tell me, what Pink Perfection plan are you hatching now?"

Bright brown eyes darted up to meet his. "Oh, you noticed?" She cried, practically vibrating with excitement.

Ichigo accepted the fine china teacup and saucer from her, not telling her that Giles tipped him off prior to her arrival. Inhaling the rich scent of coffee, he took a drink of the dark brew, fortifying himself for what lay ahead. Orihime's plans were legendary, in a bad way that bordered on horrific to his thinking. However, he would never tell her that.

"Yes. Now, before you eject yourself from your chair, tell me what you're planning."

"My wedding."

His cup clattered against its saucer alarmingly as his head jerked up in surprise. This was worse than horrific. "Your what!"

"My wedding." She repeated with a patient smile curving her lips as she calmly continued to stir her coffee.

His fingers tightened unconsciously around the delicate handle of the cup. "What happened while I was out of town? No one told me you were engaged."

"I'm not engaged, at least not yet." She said with a laugh as she placed the spoon on the tray. "I saw my future last night …and it was marvelous!"

"Excuse me?"

Raising her cup to her mouth, Orihime paused before taking a sip and clarified. "I had a dream."

Ichigo stared at his friend's glowing countenance in exasperation. A dream. He just about had apoplexy over a damn dream. Carefully placing his cup and saucer on the table, he rubbed a hand over his face and groaned. "I think you should tell me about this dream."

"I don't know where to start."

"At the beginning would be a good place, I'd think."

"Well," she began slowly, staring into the half-empty cup in her hand, her gaze unfocused. "I was married and living in the country. However, it wasn't my manor or even Highwell Hall, but a neat country house built of warm golden stone. A well-tended garden stretched downhill to a small summerhouse surrounded by an old apple orchard. There was a cool clear stream cut through the property below the orchard and thick grass and wildflowers grew right up to its banks.

"What?" He arched a brow in confusion. Impossible. Orihime never laid eyes on that property. However, her description sounded eerily like…

"It was there, surrounded by flowers and laughter, that I was sitting on a blanket under the branches of a gnarled tree, reading a dog-eared storybook to a little girl while two more children splashed in the sandy shallows of the stream under the watchful eye of their nanny."

She sighed, a soft shivery sound and his skin prickled in response as if a goose just walked over his grave.

"There was such a feeling of contentment and peace …and love." Orihime continued dreamily as she leaned forward to place her cup back on the tray. "It was wonderful, magical almost. I'm certain I had a very good husband, seeing as he seen fit to give me three beautiful children …well, four I guess, seeing as I was all round and fat in my dream."

Ichigo narrowed his eyes, feeling a strange niggle of discomfort in the pit of his stomach. "Who did you marry exactly?"

Orihime blinked the room back into focus and furrowed her brows. "I …I really don't know." She looked only marginally put out by that point before shrugging her shoulders dismissively. "I guess anyone will do as long as they're male and able to …to …"

Watching her gesture with vague hand motions, he sighed and supplied Orihime with the word he assumed she was stumbling over. "Procreate?"

"Yes, that." She smiled gratefully, a rosy blush warming her cheeks. Dropping her gaze, Orihime glanced around, obviously searching for something before retrieving a folded piece of paper from her pocket with a flourish. "Which brings me to my list."

"Not another one of your infernal lists." Ichigo groaned and eyed the decanter of brandy on the sideboard with longing. Coffee wasn't nearly strong enough when it came to dealing with the damage wrought -usually to his person or dignity- by Orihime's confounded lists. And this one promised to be the worst yet. She was talking as if she wanted a husband for stud service alone. This could only in end in disaster.

_Bloody hell, I really do want that drink now …_

Well used to his grumpy complaints, Orihime ignored his grumbling and spread the crinkled paper out across her lap. She knew Ichigo wouldn't agree with her plan. However, he wasn't so much of a hypocrite that he would condemn her for her idea though, seeing as he planned to do much the same thing in another ten or fifteen years. Marry some nubile thing and get her with child, the woman didn't matter so much as the result, an heir …and possibly a spare. Those were the exact words she'd overheard him tell Renji some five years ago. And going by his actions in the time since, Ichigo had every indication of following through on those plans to the letter.

"Why the sudden interest in marriage? I thought …"

Looking up at the odd tone in his voice, Orihime watched Ichigo tug on his neatly tied cravat, almost as if his neck cloth were chocking him. Tilting her head to the side, she waited for him to continue.

"I thought you were happy with your life the way it is."

"I am happy with my life." She was quick to assure him and tried to think how to explain herself. But could he even begin to understand what she was feeling? This dissatisfaction? This emptiness? Ichigo was quite happy living life completely unfettered, free to flit from bed to bed…

No, she wasn't going to think about that again.

Unthinkingly massaging the sore spot high on the left side of her chest, Orihime glanced to the side and quietly reiterated. "I am happy with my life …but I never intended to spend it alone. I am almost 26, after all."

"So what?" Ichigo's mouth thinned as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm the same age, and you won't see me racing towards the church anytime soon."

She closed her eyes and sighed inwardly. Of course he didn't understand. He was a man, after all.

Coming to her feet in a sudden rush, Orihime paced to the recessed bank of windows overlooking Curzon Street and stared blankly at the passing carriages and handful of people walking sedately down the pavement without a care in the world. Their very calmness seemed to mock her.

Unable to keep still, she idly arranged the items on the side table before calling herself a coward and turned to face him. "Yes, but it is different for men, isn't it? Their window of opportunity to …to …"

"Procreate?"

"Yes, that." Orihime nodded, blushing once again and quickly plowed ahead to make her point before she lost her nerve. "Men have a larger window of opportunity. They can afford to take their time. Women …women don't have that luxury if they want children." She finished quietly.

Ichigo stared at her silently. A long moment passed, then he looked away, deflated. "That's still no reason to rush into marriage."

Gracefully sinking beside him on the narrow settee, she looked up into Ichigo's eyes, easily seeing the concern and unease he tried to hide in their dark depths. He really was the greatest of friends. Orihime mused as she rested her hand on his forearm. Feeling the rich material of his wool coat sliding under her fingertips, she patted his arm reassuringly. "Give me some credit, Ichigo. I'm not going to rush willy-nilly into this."

He released the breath he wasn't even aware of holding and nodded in satisfaction. "Good."

"I knew you'd feel this way, that's why I planned ahead and made a list." She sent him a smile full of affection, one he easily returned and her breath caught in the back of her throat.

While Orihime did adore his scowls, there was no denying Ichigo was like a different person when he smiled, softer, more approachable, positively charming. If the young ladies of the ton ever saw him smile like that, he'd have to beat them off with a stick. Blinking away that mental picture, Orihime pulled her hand from his arm and busied herself with straightening the coffee tray.

"Also, I'm having tea with Rukia later today." she paused while folding a napkin before she nodded with determination. "Together, we're sure to find someone eligible for me to marry before the season ends."

Ichigo tensed. _Orihime married, before the season ends?_ His eyes jerked to the side to stare at her profile and his face fell. _But that was less than three months away …_

**~o0o~**

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who read, added to their favorites and/or alerted, and reviewed. You made me ridiculously happy. And a big thank you to Nypsy for catching those errors, that's what I get for adding things in a rush right before posting.

With that said, I'm heading out the door again. D: Thanks for reading. ~Rairakku


	3. Chapter 3

**Schemes vs. Seduction **

Chapter Three: Hats, Horse, and the Beginning of Discord

Bleach; Ichihime AU Regency England

Word Count: 4960

Warning: none

Disclaimer: all characters herein are the property of Kubo Tite.

Fanart for this project, created by the talented Child of the Ashes (remove the spaces): http:/ child-of-the-ashes. deviantart. com/ art/ FLOL-Fanwork-Challenge-253302134

**~o0o~**

The streets were quiet in Knightsbridge this time of day. The wealthy, the pampered, the indolent were still abed after a late night round of parties, card playing, and other clandestine entertainments. The exact reasons Ichigo would rather be in bed himself. It was much too early to receive a summons to Rotterwood House by an imperious Rukia. His large curtained four-post bed called to him like a sweetly melodious siren, luring him back into soporific slumber.

Ichigo groaned with distaste. He was so tired he was beginning to sound like some rattle pated fool spouting off loving odes to his comfortable bed.

However, fool or not, Ichigo couldn't very well ignore Rukia. She would just send a burly footman or -even worse to his way of thinking- Renji to pry him out of bed in the most annoying manner possible. She'd done it before. The black-hearted harpy.

Lucifer's hooves clomped against the cobbles in sharply staccato pattern. His stallion, whose dangerous and potentially lethal temperament was as black as his coat, knew they weren't heading in the direction of the park and the bridle path where he could kick up his heels and stretch out. They'd already passed Hyde Park Corner some time ago and were moving deeper into Belgravia. _Later, boy._ Ichigo murmured and patted the thickly muscled neck even as Lucifer swung his head around to nip at his master's gloved hand. _Bloody bastard._ Thankfully, they were almost to their destination in the newly developed Belgrave Square.

Dismounting in the crescent shaped drive of No. 12 Rotterwood House behind a recently stopped black carriage, Ichigo tossed the reins of his cantankerous horse to a footman with pleasure. A quick flick of his wrist gestured for a second footman to step back after opening the unmarked carriage door. Holding out his hand, his greeting died on his lips as a small white gloved hand curled around his and he got his first good look at Orihime.

"What is that?"

Ichigo stared at her bonnet with a combination of exasperation and horror as she stepped out into the weak morning sunshine. It was surely too early in the day to be faced with something that monstrous looking. Once she reached solid ground, he idly poked it with a gloved finger to ensure there was nothing alive in there and scowled into a shiny pair of malevolent black eyes. "Is that a crow?"

Clapping her hands together, Orihime tilted her head back and beamed up at him. "He's wonderfully beady eyed, isn't he?" She lifted a hand to gently touch the side of her straw bonnet that somehow contained the aforementioned stuffed crow, a drunken sunflower that tilted and bobbed with each step, and a veritable profusion of netting before she strolled up the shallow steps into Rotterwood house. "I found a young woman from the hospital a position as a milliners' assistant. She used her first week's wages to make this as a small token of her thanks."

Following her trim figure –once again clad in pink under her lightweight spencer, he noticed with a frown- into the cool foyer, Ichigo surrendered his hat and coat to Byakuya's stiff-necked butler and muttered. "I'd be wondering if she really was all that thankful seeing as she put that harbinger of death on your hat." Watching her cheeks puff out in the beginnings of annoyance, his amused grin melted away as she lifting the monstrosity from her head to reveal another one of those infernal lace caps covering her braided hair and he decided to goad Orihime a bit more. "Maybe it's a curse instead?"

Forestalled from making a comment by Byakuya's butler gesturing them towards the stairs, Orihime graciously handed her maligned hat to a footman with a tiny smile before tilting her chin in the air and marched off, leaving Ichigo to follow in her wake.

"You're both finally here." Rukia cheered once they were announced and directed them into the tastefully decorated morning room with a regal wave of her hand. "I have fresh tea and biscuits."

"I think Ichigo is more in need of coffee." Orihime whispered conspiratorially as she passed, "He's cranky."

"I'm not cranky. However, I am wondering why I received a marginally polite worded order to be here at the ungodly hour of nine." Entering the room fast on her heels, Ichigo grumbled in his own defense. "I'll have you know I didn't get in until early this morning and would appreciate getting some sleep."

Orihime's mouth thinned as she turned away with a sniff. "See. He's cranky."

"I am n-" he came to a stop, blinking at the woman seated beside Rukia and his nerves twitched under his skin in warning. What was going on here? "Mother, what are you doing here?" Ichigo murmured as he crossed to her side and bent down to brush a kiss against her smooth cheek. He had the uncanny feeling as if he'd just entered a well-concealed trap.

Smiling at her first born, Masaki's brown eyes twinkled with barely masked glee. "I'm here to help too."

"With what?"

"With Orihime's plans to get married, of course."

His eyes widened. Is that why he was called here? To help? This was now getting out of hand. Ichigo was certain Orihime would have moved on to something else overnight, like purchasing a monkey or maybe building a hospital of her own. Anything but this confounded talk about marriage.

Rounding on his redheaded friend, he frowned at Orihime as she sat on the sofa opposite his mother and Rukia, serenely straightening her pink sprigged muslin skirts. "You're not still talking about this nonsense, are you?"

Orihime glanced up in surprise and blinked. "It …it's not nonsense."

"That's your opinion." He muttered from the side of his mouth, feeling strangely irritated at her continued stubbornness.

"Ichigo, as I explained yesterday, I'm not getting any younger. I can't afford to dillydally."

"You also said you weren't going to rush."

"And I'm not. However, I'm not going to dawdle either."

His lips twisted, biting back an acerbic comment about her already dawdling for better part of seven years. Why the tearing hurry now? Rukia poured them both a cup of tea while they were talking and practically ordered him to sit and drink it before it went cold. He didn't want to sit, he was restless, he wanted to pace. But when Orihime glanced up at him with a curious look and patted the open space beside her, Ichigo ignored his contrariness and folded the long tails of his brown wool coat under and sat.

He watched Orihime from the corner of his eye as she leaned forward with a look of utter concentration as she plucked two biscuits and a fruit pastry from the tray. She was so familiar to him; he probably knew her face better than his own. The line of her jaw, the soft brown of her eyes, the sweet curve of her mouth. Unexpected heat coiled in his stomach as he stared at her lips. Full and inviting, perfectly shaped for kis-

"Mm, berry tarts. How wonderful." Orihime sat back with a happy sigh.

Yes, wonderful. Here he was thinking about her luscious mouth and she was only thinking about food. His eyes flicked along her profile guiltily before dropping to stare unseeingly into his cup of unwanted tea. "What's so special about children anyway?" Ichigo muttered unthinkingly as his eyes lifted once more to Orihime's face. He didn't mean to speak his thoughts, but now that he did, he couldn't help but add. "Just get a dog; they're cheaper and less messy."

Slowly chewing a bite of pastry, Orihime placed the remaining piece on her plate before meeting his dark eyes. "That's not true. Besides which, I already have a dog."

"No you don't." He corrected her with a beleaguered sigh. "What you have is an exceedingly fat horse, one you spoil too much." Ichigo groused before stealing a butter biscuit from her unattended plate while she sipped her tea.

Orihime lowered her cup back to its saucer with a quiet clink. "Ōmaeda is not fat." she stated firmly, sounding thoroughly offended …although Ichigo wasn't certain if that was due to the insult to her horse or the theft of her food. Probably the latter. Food was of the utmost importance to her.

The corners of his mouth kicked up at the corners in amusement. "Yes, he is fat. Lazy too. You really should exercise him more." He gestured chidingly in her direction with his pilfered biscuit before popping the last in his mouth, smiling superiorly at Orihime's vexed expression.

Masaki watched the two redheads bicker back and forth with a tiny smile curling her lips. Forgotten, Rukia and herself could very well be on the other side of the room for all her son and Orihime cared. Not that that displeased her in the least. In fact, it only confirmed what she already knew. Glancing at Rukia, she tilted her head in their direction, curious if someone else would see what was so clear to her.

Blinking in surprise, Rukia followed the countess's gaze to the bickering pair. She watched Orihime and Ichigo for a moment, wondering what she was supposed to see. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she glanced back at Masaki and arched a questioning brow. The other woman merely smiled wider and let her eyes drift back to her only son and the woman seated closely beside him.

Still not understanding, Rukia's gaze slid back to her friends. This time she blocked out their words and focused instead on their actions. The casual touches. The easy familiarity. The gentle looks. And her lips parted on a silent gasp. They fought like an old married couple, teasing and affectionate, never crossing the line, always respectful of the other's feelings.

They …they were in love with each other and didn't even realize it.

Delicate china rattled against sterling silver as she fumbled with her cup, knocking it against a spoon as she placed it on the table. Ichigo and Orihime? Inconceivable.

"She'll make him an excellent wife." Masaki used the pretext of choosing another biscuit to lean near and murmured. "And he's the perfect man to sire all those children she wants."

Rukia nodded slowly in understanding and then -after letting it fully sink in- more rapidly in wholehearted agreement. It was a perfect match. Why didn't she see it before? She peeked through her lashes at the redheaded pair and wondered how to bring their marriage about, quickly. Although, knowing Ichigo as she did, the contrary man would instantly balk and turn argumentative if he caught wind of what her and his mother were planning …even if it was for his own good.

There was no choice then, time to use his protective instincts against him. "You just gave me the perfect idea, Ichigo."

His attention was pulled away from Orihime playfully nattering about his fixation on tight coats and flashy –in her opinion- watch fobs by Rukia's syrupy sweet comment. "What?" he snapped, instantly on his guard. His eyes darted from his friend to his mother and back again as they whispered between themselves.

"Starting tomorrow, Orihime should join you on your morning ride." Masaki stated while giving her son a gentle smile, one that barely masked the steel underneath.

His eyes flared. That was an order, wasn't it?

"Don't you see? It's ideal for our purposes." Rukia casually remarked while gesturing towards Orihime. "She can exercise Ōmaeda and at the same time converse with the many eligible men who also ride in the park each day. And you are the perfect escort to protect her from any unsavory attention."

Of course he would protect her. He always protected her. But Ichigo still had three good reasons why this was a bad idea. One, Orihime on horseback was an accident waiting to happen. Two, his normal exhilarating hell-for-leather morning ride would be turned into an aimless social ramble. And three, he didn't want anything to do with facilitating Orihime's nuptials.

However, when faced with three women saying it was a perfectly marvelous idea, and all three of those women were presently in the same room as him, watching him with varying degrees of expectation, menace, and excitement, there wasn't much Ichigo could do, but agree.

Therefore, with a feeling of impending doom churning in his stomach, he arrived at Orihime's the next day for their promised ride just as she was coming down the stairs. Her heeled boots clattered against the marble risers as she descended -thankfully in something other than the detested shade of pink.

A rich blue velvet riding habit encased her womanly curves, displaying them to perfection while at the same time allowing not even a tantalizing bit of skin to show. From the tips of her brown leather boots to the jaunty little hat perched at an angle on her copper curls, she looked every inch the perfect lady.

Giles stood patiently near the door, holding out Orihime's blue kid riding gloves and she smiled in thanks at her butler before carefully pulling on the delicate gloves. Giving her appearance a once over in the hall mirror, she turned back to Giles curiously. "Did you already distribute the lists I gave you?"

"Yes Milady. Mrs. Avery and Cook were delighted that you thought to include them." He calmly answered. Although truth be told, the housekeeper and cook were both equally distraught as well. As was he. It wasn't his place to tell his employer that she was acting illogical in this scheme of hers, however …

"About the list you gave me?"

Curious as to what the problem was, Orihime took the paper from his gloved hand and read off the short list. "Send a note to my solicitor to inquire about procuring a special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury. Arrange for a parson to be on call to officiate the ceremony. And request that my modiste call at his earliest convenience for my fittings." Three simple things. She tapped a finger against her chin, pursing her lips in thought. Maybe that was the problem, Giles wished for something more challenging than this.

"Ishida is coming here?"

Ichigo's bored drawl interrupted her train of thought. She looked up into her friend's narrowed eyes and smiled sheepishly, remembering too late the two men didn't get along. "Y-yes. Rukia and your mother advised me to rework a few of my gowns. And I would like to be married in a new dress." She nodded at Giles and returned his list before glancing over her shoulder at Ichigo, sending him a blinding smile. "It's only proper, after all."

It wouldn't do to slap a hand over his face, but that was exactly what Ichigo wanted to do. Orihime was worried about propriety? One would think that selecting a prospective husband and securing a proposal would come first, like any other normal person.

But –as always- Orihime tended to do things backwards. Her mind didn't work the same as everyone else. She tended to do and say whatever came to mind with frightful regularity. He shouldn't complain though. It was who she was. And life could never be called boring with her around.

However, while watching her talk excitedly with Giles and Mrs. Avery, her housekeeper, joining their discussion, he realized that the husband she was searching for might not appreciate, nor be nearly as understanding of their friendship as others were. This nameless man might even unfairly accuse Ichigo of intruding on their union and shut him out of her life entirely.

A cold shiver slithered down his spine. That thought didn't even bear thinking.

**~o0o~**

After finally extricating her from her staff, they arrived at the park later than expected, but still well before the daily crowd converged, and Ichigo wondered why he even bothered. Orihime was not a confident equestrian, nor would she likely ever be one. Her seat was good, but her attention wandered continually causing them to plod along at a snail's pace for her safety.

He could only scowl as others rode by at a brisk pace down the mile and a half track of the King's Road, leaving them behind in their dust. His temper was short lived though, all it took one look at Orihime's face, alight with a sense of adventure, and his impatience disappeared. He may not agree with the reason behind her joining him, but he did enjoy her company.

Perched on the board back of her spoiled horse with her right leg hooked securely around the pommel, Orihime happily observed the comings and goings of the other riders. She called out a cheerful greeting to everyone that rode by. None stopped for conversation, merely glancing at Ichigo as if to gauge their welcome before tipping their hats politely in Orihime's direction and riding on, safe in the knowledge that they escaped a confrontation with Kurosaki's famous temper.

Their ride followed that same vein for some time, quite satisfactorily to Ichigo's mind, until an older man, dressed more for the country than Town slowed his bay hunter and came alongside.

"Lady Orihime, this is a pleasant surprise."

Ichigo scowled as Orihime smiled brightly in return and offered her hand. Was she flirting with the man? Wait …what did she just call him? Lord Bletchley? He blinked in thought. That name sounded familiar. He repeating the name in his mind until it finally came to him. Lord Bletchley, otherwise known as Ian Leon or Viscount Bletchley, an old school chum of Sora's and a stuffy bore from what Ichigo could remember from the few times their paths crossed at Highwell Hall.

What the devil did he want with Orihime?

Lucifer pawed at the ground, blowing aggressively. His tension was transferring to his horse. _Calm down, idiot._ He grumbled under his breath. Ichigo wasn't certain if those words were directed more to himself or his horse as his hand fisted in the reins and he brought the blasted stallion under control.

"I beg your pardon; I'm holding up your ride." Lord Bletchley tilted his head in Ichigo's direction before glancing back at Orihime. Smiling once more, his pale blue eyes were tender as he fondly looked down on his late friend's sister. "I'll call on you soon. We can catch up then."

After giving their goodbyes, Orihime started her horse down the track again, deep in thought. "Ian's wife passed on a little over two years ago, leaving him with two young children if I remember correctly."

Ichigo didn't answer; Orihime didn't seem to notice either. Right now, she was in her own little world and seemed to regard him as nothing more than a benevolent confessor or something likewise benign. How little she really knew of him. It was so far from the truth it should have been laughable.

Instead, he found it annoying.

Unaware of his foul mood for the first time in memory, she blithely glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Perhaps, he'd be a likely candidate?"

Ichigo's eyes widen and he only just stopped himself from cursing in her presence. That old man married to Orihime? "You can't be serious?"

Switching her gaze to the passing lampposts, she shrugged her shoulders even as her fingers tightened on the reins. "Why not? Sora always spoke highly of him."

"He's more than fifteen years older than you."

"Well yes, but that is to be expected. Not many men want a wife my age. Moreover, he's already sired two children and that's practically a guarantee he can …can …well, you know."

Ichigo's eyes hardened and he practically spit out the word she continued to stumble over. "Procreate?"

"Y-yes, that."

Looking straight down the gravel track, Ichigo's mouth firmed, curling down at the corners. "Either that or his wife was unfaithful."

Orihime jerked her head around to stare at him. "Ichigo," she gasped, scandalized by his harsh cynicism. "That's rude to speak ill of the dead. Besides, I heard theirs was a love match."

He shrugged his shoulders unconcernedly. "I doubt that. Our class marries for expediency. Love is generally found with a lover, not a spouse. It's common nowadays for one man's nursery to house another man's bastard."

Her brown eyes caught spark and flared at his careless words. "And how many of your by-blows populate other men's nurseries?" Orihime snapped as she hauled back on the reins.

He drew his horse to a halt beside hers, staring, stupefied. What just happened? She'd never once made even the slightest mention of his affairs or raised her voice at him in anger. But just now she did both …

Orihime paled and slapped a hand over her mouth. She twisted in the saddle, her wide eyes imploring. "F-forgive me, that was terribly uncalled for. Please forget I said anything."

Ichigo blinked away his shock. Not so fast. He brushed away her apology and instead opened his mouth to demand to know what she meant by that. Did Orihime honestly think so little of him? The tortured look in her gaze stayed his questions though. And his heart throbbed painfully as tears gathered along her thick lashes.

Feeling like the worst kind of heel, his jaw snapped shut as rosy color heated his cheeks. She had him completely twisted around her little finger …and didn't even realize it. Pulling a neatly pressed handkerchief from his inside coat pocket, Ichigo thrust it towards Orihime and muttered awkwardly. "Don't carry on so, there's no harm done."

Her gaze darted from the white linen square to his eyes even as she hesitantly reached for it. "B-but …"

"But nothing, dry your eyes." Ichigo ordered softly and folded her fingers around the handkerchief, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

She whispered her thanks and obediently dabbed at her eyes before glancing around and then blowing her nose too.

"Better?"

"Y-yes …I don't know what got into me. T-that was a horrible thing to-" Ichigo arched a brow and shushed her before she could say any more. She pressed her lips together and nodded before tucking his handkerchief away. "I'll have this washed and return it to you quickly."

"There's no rush. I have more." Ichigo replied easily with a crooked smile. Straightening in the saddle, he gestured to the track ahead with a quick nod of his head and asked. "Shall we?"

They continued their ride with Orihime chattering about amusing stories from the hospital in an effort to return to their normal banter. It fell flat though. There was now an awkward tension between them, one that never existed before. And the morning as a whole resulted in failure. However, Orihime remained optimistic that tomorrow would yield better results.

It didn't.

Neither did the next day.

Or the day after that.

Monday morning he arrived to find Orihime already in the saddle with one of the stable grooms standing beside a hackneyed old mare preparing to mount.

Wheeling Lucifer, Ichigo came alongside Orihime and glanced pointedly at her groom. "What's this?"

Needlessly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a nervous gesture, she avoided his gaze, seemingly interested with the high points of his starched collar. "I thought I'd ride the track with Bailey this morning. It's not fair of me to keep holding you back."

"Pull the other one, Orihime."

She blinked in surprise and stuttered. "It's just that I k-know how you enjoy riding at a faster pace than …" His eyes narrowed and Ichigo arched an incredulous brow. Her cheeks flushed with guilty color as she dropped her eyes. "It …it was your mother's suggestion, actually."

"My mother?"

"Yes, she imagined no one will approach me with you hovering nearby." Orihime turned Ōmaeda's head and nudged the horse into motion.

Ichigo scowled at her retreating back. "Hover? I don't hover." He grumbled as she trotted off. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he spurred Lucifer after her. Maybe he did hover, but that's what his mother and Rukia asked him to do, wasn't it? It was for her own protection.

Waiting for him to catch up, Orihime rode at his side down busy Park Lane. "I'm sure she didn't mean anything by that, Ichigo. Your mother only meant that the two of us together present a picture that isn't conductive to me finding a husband."

Stopping at the intersection for a coach and four to pass, he mulled over her words in silence and didn't speak again until they maneuvered through the gate and into the park proper. "And what picture is that?"

She didn't answer for a moment, just concentrated on guiding her lazy gelding down the park's broad avenue before sighing. "That …that we have a prior understanding."

A dull blush stained his cheeks. Blaming it on the brisk May breeze and not the thought of a betrothal to Orihime, Ichigo tugged on his neckcloth and gruffly muttered a succinct, "Balderdash."

She studied him, her thin brows furrowed under the brim of her little hat. "Nonsense or not, all I know is what we've been doing isn't attracting any attention."

"Is getting married that important to you?"

Orihime swallowed and stopped her horse at the beginning of the gravel track before glancing away. "I'll be fine from here, Ichigo. You …you can go."

There was no mistake; he was being dismissed. Her answer in this case couldn't be clearer.

Ichigo bit back his immediate reply with difficulty and instead sent Bailey a hard look, charging the grizzled man with her safety. Tipping his hat in Orihime's direction, "As you wish." he spoke tight-lipped and spurred Lucifer forward before he spoke the sharp words balanced on the tip of his tongue.

It wouldn't be fair to heap his ire on her head. Orihime didn't deserve it. It was nothing more than his bruised feelings seeking an outlet. His dearest friend didn't want him by her side, the one place he felt comfortable, accepted, needed. This was the second time she's pushed him away. And Ichigo could not lie, it hurt every bit as much as it did when he was 18.

**~o0o~**

"Where's mother?"

"Hello to you too, Ichigo." Isshin murmured from under the newsprint covering his face. Tossing the paper aside, he glanced at his scowling heir before sitting up. Naptime was obviously over.

Giving him a halfhearted salute of greeting, Ichigo paced his father's flamboyantly decorated office like an animal caged. He couldn't get the picture from earlier of Orihime riding the bridle path, escorted by none other than Lord Bletchley with Bailey riding a respectful distant behind. Laughing and smiling, she didn't even notice him passing by on his return. And he'd been seething ever since.

Isshin stretched and yawned before remembering Ichigo's question. "Your delightful mother is presently taking tea at Number Four. Your sister wanted to discuss some things with her."

Yuzu huh? Ichigo plowed his fingers through his hair, ruffling the unfashionably bright orange strands into further disorder. He forgot his younger sister was in town for the season with her husband. But that didn't answer why they couldn't have taken tea here. Unless …unless his mother knew he'd come here demanding answers. Likely. Masaki Kurosaki knew her children well and could easily anticipate their actions.

"How long will she be gone? I want to ask her why she's needlessly interfering."

Isshin arched a brow at his son's peeved tone. "Does this have to do with your abbreviated morning ride?" He taunted, glad for once that news about his son's activities traveled fast. Stretching his arms out along the back of the sofa, the elder Kurosaki smirked at Ichigo's obvious distress. "Feeling thwarted, are we?"

Ichigo came to a dead stop and threw his father a withering glare. "That's not even remotely funny, old man."

Blowing out a breath, Isshin dropped his chin to rest on his chest, hoping he hadn't been nearly this humorless or stubborn when he was his son's age. He'd have to ask his wife later, and maybe squeeze a compliment or two out of her in the process. That woman was dreadfully stingy when it came to praise; only complementing him once in all the time they've been together.

He lifted his head and gazed at his scowling son. Maybe that was what Ichigo needed right now, a boost to his confidence, a little praise. His ego must have taken quite the hit this morning what with Orihime choosing to ride alone rather than with him, and then to have her end up with the highly eligible Lord Bletchley. What a blow.

"You know you're considered quite the catch, too. Titled and wealthy, plus, you're a handsome young man in top physical condition, just like your father. It's no wonder the ladies adore you like they do." Ignoring the horrified look his son was sending him, Isshin smugly stroked his sparse black beard before jumping up from his seat to take Ichigo by the shoulders. "Don't lose confidence just because a rival has appeared, it's time to stop dawdling and stake your claim before someone else does."

"Claim …w-what claim?"

His son was hopeless. Completely and utterly. Isshin thought with a dramatic groan. "On Orihime, who else?"

Ichigo froze. The sound of his heart hammered in his ears as visions of his beautiful friend flashed through his mind. Claim Orihime? His mouth opened and closed uselessly before he turned his face away, snapping. "Do you even hear yourself? You're speaking nonsense."

Watching from under lowered brows as his son strode stiff-backed to the door, Isshin murmured under his breath, "No, my dear boy, what you're doing is nonsense."

**~o0o~**

A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. ~Rairakku


	4. Chapter 4

**Schemes vs. Seduction **

Chapter Four: Opera Anyone?

Bleach; Ichihime AU Regency England

Word Count: 5195

Warning: minor adult situations

Disclaimer: all characters herein are the property of Kubo Tite.

Fanart for this project -and this chapter in particular- was created by the talented Child of the Ashes (remove the spaces): http:/ child-of-the-ashes. deviantart. com/ art/ FLOL-Fanwork-Challenge-253302134

**~o0o~**

The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself.

**Oscar Wilde**, _The Picture of Dorian Gray, 1891_

**~o0o~**

Lady Orihime inwardly flinched, even as her full lips curved in polite amusement at the outlandish tale. The story of the greengrocer's horse harmlessly kicking over his traces on Bond Street earlier in the week had grown into a half-mad stallion –complete with eyes black as the devil's heart and a roar of rage that rivaled the fabled banshee- rampaging through the crowd, leaving hapless shoppers trampled in his wake. That is, until a handsome brave young lord –of course- risked life and limb to put a stop to the brutal attack before the horse's sharp hooves could descend on a helpless young miss collapsed on the pavement.

It was a thrilling story –say if one were reading it in a book. However, it wasn't a book nor was it a story Orihime really wished to hear. Neither did Lord Bletchley …Ian, she quickly corrected herself as she felt the muscles in his arm tighten under her fingertips. He spared her a quick glance before smoothly changing the subject to a balloon ascension planned for two week hence.

Relaxing, her smile felt more natural as the group took up the new topic with alacrity. Orihime's eyes glided over the two couples conversing with them, old friends of Lord Bletchley's as she understood it, before her gaze slid to the side to watch the well-dressed theater goers milling around the crowded foyer of the Theatre Royal.

Tonight's outing was Lord Bletchley's …Ian's idea, and she didn't want to spoil it for him. While attending a musical soiree at Lady Hobart's a few days earlier, Ian joined Orihime, Lady Blackpoint, and her daughter, Yuzu at the sparsely laid out refreshment table after the performance. He mentioned the new production starting later this week on Drury Lane, remembering from Sora her young interest in Shakespeare. He didn't realize –and neither had her brother- that her interest came more from a certain orange-haired someone's admiration of the Bard than her own scholarly pursuits.

It didn't matter if she enjoyed it or not since Masaki decided in an instant that attending the theatre later in the week was just the thing, even offering the use of the Blackpoint private box. And before Orihime knew it, a party was assembled consisting of Lord Bletchley and herself, Lord and Lady Blackpoint, Yuzu and her merchant husband, and possibly Yuzu's twin sister, Karin –who by all accounts would be coming down to Town within the next day or so.

Swept up in all their planning without agreeing one way or the other, Orihime was left to the decidedly untender mercies of Lady Blackpoint and Rukia as they took her shopping the next day, saying she _must_ have a new gown and accessories for the occasion. Then, over the course of several days, they coached her in the subtle art of flirting and securing a man's interest before Masaki gave both her and Rukia a horribly embarrassing talk about men and married matters that left her cheeks flushed for hours afterwards. And yesterday was spent at her modiste's for a final fitting before Rukia dragged her back to her brother's for a late lunch where they unashamedly ate too many dainty smoked salmon sandwiches and ruthlessly weeded her list until it only included a handful of eligible men –with Lord Bletchley …Ian at the top.

Ian would be any woman's idea of the perfect husband, kind, considerate, and caring. A union between them would be comfortable and genial, everything her brother would have wished for her. But even when he picked her up at six and complimented her appearance, teasing her that he would be the envy of all present this evening, she still felt as if something was missing. And now Orihime looked around the crowded foyer for a familiar face –one in particular- and she wondered what she was doing here.

Well, that was silly. She knew why she was here; she was trying to land a husband. Wasn't she? Of course she was. That was the whole purpose behind her attendance tonight. Actually, that was a lie. She was looking forward to the play; it was to be Macready's debut as Macbeth tonight –and it was said that he had great capacity for playing high tragedy. And with the way her mood had been lately, a tragedy was only fitting.

_Fiddlesticks._ Orihime muttered to herself. She was most assuredly out of sorts tonight. However, there was nothing to do but try to make the best of the evening …even though she would have preferred to be at home sorting through her feelings and possibly revising her lists. Her plans weren't proceeding as she thought. Getting married was more difficult than what she believed.

Actually, that was another lie.

She probably could have secured a proposal easily, what with Ian hinting around that his daughters missed their mother and he came to Town with the intention of doing something about it. That should have been her cue to mention her work and how much she loves children, then subtly adding how she hopes to have her own someday …but she didn't. She merely sat there, making sympathetic sounds and smiling noncommittally. The moment Ian talked about his little girls; Orihime couldn't help but picture what she imagined her children would look like.

And like in her dream three weeks ago, they had the same brilliant orange hair of their father.

Her eyes drifted closed on a sigh. It always came back to Ichigo. Always. She hadn't even seen him since that morning almost two weeks ago in the park. But it was their ride on that first day that continued to haunt her. His words that day wounded her. Ichigo had been so cold, so cynically dismissive when he talked about love and marriage. And she knew that her dream would not come true, not with him.

Enough of that! Later when she was at home, alone under the covers, Orihime would allow her dreams to take life while she slept. But not now. Now she needed to live life instead of waiting around wishing he'd have a change of heart. Groaning under her breath, she pushed all thoughts of Ichigo forcefully from her mind. However, she must have been louder than she thought because Ian broke off his conversation and leaned near to solicitously ask if she was all right.

"Umm," Orihime could feel her cheeks heat with color as his acquaintances switched their attention to her, "Y-yes, I'm fine. Sorry for the interruption."

"Are you sure?" Concern for her was evident in his blue eyes. "Please forgive me for saying so, but you do look at little pale."

He must imagine she was upset over their talk earlier of the grocer's horse, thinking it reminded her of Sora's accident. If only her thoughts were as simple as that. A crooked smile lifted the corner of her mouth as Orihime reached up and touched the side of her head, feeling like a fraud. "It's j-just a bit of a headache, I fear." She murmured, wanting to escape everyone's unnecessary concern and disappear into the retiring room for a moment until she could bring her emotions back under control.

Ian's pale brows furrowed and placed his hand over hers on his arm before excusing them from his group of friends. "Do you wish to return home?"

"Oh no no no, I'm fine." She assured him, knowing she never should have prevaricated in the first place. What was she becoming? She already pushed her best friend away, was dressing in clothes someone else picked out for her, and now she was lying. Was her desperation to marry changing her into a different person entirely? Would she even recognize herself in another couple of weeks?

"Are you sure you don't wish me to take you home?"

Orihime blinked the bright room back into focus as Ian's question broke through her troubled thoughts. What was she doing now; her attention should be firmly on her escort, not on impossible daydreams. Lifting her eyes to meet his gentle blue gaze, she simply smiled and nodded resolutely in reply.

Hesitantly surrendering, Ian turned her to the doors leading to the private boxes. "Then perhaps we should find our seats, it should be quieter in the Blackpoint's box."

Walking slowly through the crowded halls, stopping here and there to exchange greetings, make introductions, and touch fingers with acquaintances, they finally made it to their host's private box. Orihime gratefully stepped through the heavy scarlet curtain into the quiet alcove filled with eight delicate chairs overlooking the right hand of the stage. A smile curled her lips at the sight of Lord and Lady Blackpoint with their heads close together chatting happily near the front rail, oblivious to everything around them.

Her smile grew as Isshin turned his head, belatedly noticing them and jumped to his feet with an excited shout. Orihime blushed and fought back a nervous giggle as Isshin bowed over her hand, paying her one effusive after another compliment. It always amazed her that the earl was such a loud, gregarious man when his son was so quiet and reserved. The Kurosaki men really were as different from each other as they could be.

Tugged out of his grip by his wife, Masaki smiled gaily at her guest's embarrassment. "Pay him no nevermind, my dear. Although I must agree, you do look beautiful tonight." Her smile changed into a mischievous grin as she seized opportunity while the men talked about parliamentary issues to whisper in Orihime's ear. "I just knew that was the right dress for you the moment I saw it. Your assets are without compare; you should use them to your advantage more often."

The heat in Orihime's cheeks exploded into a conflagration and spread down to the abundant swells of her aforementioned assets. Resisting the urge to tug up the tiny bodice of her new dress, she instead sat to Masaki's right in a flurry of skirts and flipped open her pretty lace fan in a futile attempt to cool her overheated cheeks and shield her chest from curious eyes.

Standing behind Orihime's delicate chair, Ian glanced down at her and arched a brow before giving a quick bow and smiled winningly at tonight's hostess. "Thank you once again for inviting us to share your box, Lady Blackpoint."

Masaki nodded graciously. "It was our pleasure." She assured him and invited Ian to take the seat directly behind Orihime with a quiet wave of her hand before lifting her eyes to glance behind the viscount. "Ah, and here's the rest of our party."

Isshin and Ian stood politely when the scarlet curtain at the rear of the box was pulled aside and Yuzu entered on the arm of her husband. Her twin, Karin, followed soon after and the heavy curtain fell back into place as Ichigo released it and stepped in behind his dark haired sister.

Orihime gasped in surprise. Using her fan to hide her flushed cheeks, she peered over the edge, her eyes drinking in his unexpected appearance. The snug black trousers and tailcoat he wore paired with a tastefully patterned grey waistcoat offset the crisp white of his shirt and starched cravat to perfection. Her eyes flicked up and over his neatly trimmed sideburns and carefully brushed orange locks and she smiled. Ichigo obviously hadn't run his fingers through his hair, yet. The night was still early though.

Listening to the rumble of his deep voice as he greeted his mother, she lowered her eyes, feeling unaccountably shy all of a sudden. What was wrong with her? It was only Ichigo. The man she'd known for years. Ichigo, her dearest and best friend. Peeking up through her lashes, Orihime repeated her mantra under her breath as he turned his dark intense gaze toward her. And her heart skipped a beat.

.

.

.

No cap. Ichigo stared. He knew he was being rude, but he just could stop looking at her uncovered red hair. In the two weeks since he'd last seen her, Orihime had already done away with those infernal caps he detested. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, an unwelcome thought arose in his mind. Had Orihime and Bletchley come to an understanding already? They couldn't have. She wouldn't …not without talking to him first. Right?

Calming down before he made a cake of himself -in front of his family no less, Ichigo bowed and murmured her name. Orihime's voice was soft, almost indiscernible above the hum of the theater as she returned his greeting and he cowardly avoided her eyes, instead lowering his gaze to the gown she was wearing. It was a delicate high-waisted dress with puffed sleeves barely clinging to the rounded curves of her shoulders, and silk skirts that spilled like an ivory waterfall to the carpeted floor. He'd never seen it before and he idly wondered if she commissioned Ishida to make it before his enfeebled brain caught up with exactly what he was seeing. Skin. A lot of skin.

To hell with being calm. His heart gave a strange lurch, kicking against his ribs. Hard. Since when did Orihime take to wearing such low-cut gowns? He'd always known she was a beautiful woman, all gentle softness and lush curves. But this …

Words failed him. Ichigo tugged at the cravat slowly choking him and continued to stare. Was this gorgeous, sensuous creature really Orihime? He couldn't pull his eyes away. Ichigo felt mesmerized. Her every motion seemed more confident, fluid and enticing. And while he couldn't deny a certain male appreciation with her appearance, all he really wanted to do was tear his coat from his shoulders and cover hers to keep other men from looking at her with hungry eyes.

The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the play and Ichigo finally shook free of his absorption with Orihime's transformation. Halfheartedly returning Bletchley's friendly hello, he stumbled to the seat beside his father in the last row and sat down heavily. No sooner did he arrange his long limbs in the flimsy chair, his eyes lifted –not to the stage, but to Orihime's profile just as Bletchley leaned forward to whisper in her ear causing her to laugh. Ichigo glowered. Plowing his gloved fingers through his hair, he wondered what the bloody hell he was even doing here.

That was a lie. He was here to see Macbeth. It was the perfect night for a tragedy.

**~o0o~**

Tonight was turning out even better than expected.

Leaning against a marble column near the entry, Isshin stood with a large grin plastered on his face and waited for his footman to return and tell him the carriage had arrived. He knew it would take some time for the queue of carriages in front of the theater to thin but he didn't move from his spot as he observed his family and guests.

His wife and daughters chatted happily with Orihime about tonight's performance under the watchful eye of Yuzu's devoted husband. Isshin's smile grew as his eyes flicked to his son conversing nearby with Lord Bletchley. All evening, Ichigo's eyes would skim the crowd before settling on Orihime's animated face, her gleaming uncovered hair, her bare shoulders …and the generous swells of her breasts before he'd recall himself and look back to the stage with a dazed, confused look in his eyes.

It didn't seem possible; a dress shouldn't make that much difference. But Isshin knew it wasn't the dress, but the person inside it. His son was looking at Orihime as man does a woman he desires. It was about bloody time.

Even now, the boy just couldn't keep his gaze from straying towards her.

Isshin wanted to kick up his heels and dance a jig. His wife was a genius. Masaki and Rukia's plan to use his son's jealousy and protective instinct against him was brilliant. At this rate, Ichigo would be begging for Orihime's hand –along with everything else- before the week was over.

A good-natured argument broke out between the twins and Karen drew her brother into the ladies' conversation. How serendipitous. Isshin took advantage of the opportunity presented to him and strode to the viscount's side. "Bletchley…"

The younger man pulled his blue gaze from the pair of redheads and looked at Isshin, a single brow raised curiously.

"A word if you don't mind."

"Of course," Ian nodded slowly, trying to gauge his host's intentions. He glanced back to the young couple now standing side by side before turning back to Isshin, smiling. "I have a question to put to you as well."

**~o0o~**

"I'm sorry you were stuck with bringing me home." Orihime murmured apologetically as she arranged her skirts around her on the carriage seat.

Taking the seat opposite, Ichigo rapped the carved pewter head of his cane against the roof and waved away her comment as unimportant as the conveyance rocked into motion. It wasn't a bother. She was never a bother, even though he was still unsure of the series of events that led up to her sitting across from him.

Not that he was complaining –mind you, he'd wanted to get her alone all night. They had much to talk about, starting with her absent caps …

"I must be hideous to have my escort abandon me."

Ichigo's mouth twisted into a frown. She couldn't honestly think that. Orihime was an amazing woman, compassionate, tolerant, selfless, and he didn't like to hear her question herself in any way. "I doubt Bletchley made up his child's illness just to escape your company."

Her eyes widened at his sharp tone before growing thoughtful. "You're probably right." Slouching forward in an unladylike manner, Orihime rested her chin in the palm of her hand, sighing. "Even so, I'm beginning to think I'm going about this whole marriage business in the wrong way."

"You think?" He muttered, unable to stop the sarcastic comment from escaping, or keep his eyes from dropping to the front of her gown.

Shifting on the seat, Ichigo brushed his gloved fingers over his mouth, forcibly holding back a groan. Her breasts were practically spilling out of that tiny gathered bodice. Was she trying to torture him? He was a man, with a man's healthy appetites, and that dress was a fantasy-inspired confection of ivory silk that he could easily imagine peeling from her shapely body …

_Ping- _

He blinked his way free of a lurid daydream just in time to see a hairpin bounce off the tip of his polished boot. Ichigo jerked his gaze up and watched in breathless silence as Orihime plucked one pin after another from her hair, allowing the shining mass to slowly loosen and then tumble free around her bare shoulders. Pulling in a tight breath through his nose, Ichigo felt as if someone just punched him in the gut. He'd not seen her hair loose since they were at a house party while still in their early teens. It was longer now with a hint of curl, and the gaslights lining the street added golden highlights through the length as they passed, giving her the look of one of Titian's lushly painted beauties. Vibrant, alive, beguiling.

What was he thinking? That didn't matter in the least right now. If someone saw her exit his carriage like this her reputation would be ruined in an instant. "Wh-what are you doing, Orihime?" Ichigo couldn't help it; he panicked. "You can't leave my carriage looking like …that. Someone will think we were …that we …that you and I …"

She paused with her arms upraised and looked at him curiously. "That we what?"

His mouth opened and closed uselessly. Orihime was an innocent, but surely even she understood what people would assume. Ichigo searched his mind for a proper reply before muttering under his breath. "That …that we were acting inappropriately."

Her mouth thinned as she tucked her hairpins away in her reticule. "What twaddle." She murmured dismissively before tossing the small drawstring bag aside. "No one will say anything precisely because it is your carriage. Everyone knows we don't see each other _that _way. My virtue is in no danger."

Bloody hell, did she not even think of him as a man? Ichigo scowled, watching as Orihime sighed and ran her gloved fingers through the copper mass, loosening the heavy coiled strands. Was she going to ignore him now too? Straightened fully, he was more than ready to take issue with her flippant pronouncement until he heard her small shamed whisper.

"The truth is …my head hurts."

That took the wind out of his sails and he slumped back, deflated. Ichigo watched Orihime rub her fingertips to her temples, a small frown marring her normally smiling lips as she murmured about it being fitting retribution. He only argued with himself for a second before muttering. "Nudge over."

Her eyes flew wide as he transferred to the seat beside her. Stripping off his gloves, Ichigo tossed them to the seat opposite near his already discarded hat and reached out to gently knead the base of her skull. Her pinched expression gradually relaxed as he moved his fingers through her hair in soothing circles. "How's that?"

Orihime leaned into his touch and closed her eyes. "Better. Thank you." She moaned softly.

Her little purr of pleasure ripped through him, spearing straight to his sex. Feeling rocked off balance, Ichigo shifted uncomfortably, shocked by the force of his arousal. This was Orihime, his friend, not some bored tonnish wife eager for a quick tumble in a rocking carriage. But that didn't stop him from staring at his hand buried in the thick rich mass of her hair with fascination, imagining it spread like a gleaming auburn fan across his crisp white sheets, across his bare chest …across other delightful places.

Tearing his eyes away guiltily, he stared at the ceiling, searching for a distraction in conversation. "So," he cleared his throat as Orihime rolled her head on his shoulder to look up at him curiously, "h-have you decided on Bletchley?"

"I'm not sure. Your mother likes him and Rukia approves too."

Frowning down at her, he sent her a thunderous look designed to frighten the truth out of her. "Hang Rukia and my mother, what do you think?"

"Ichigo, that's a horrible thing to say."

Apologizing grudgingly, he bit back a frustrated sigh and continued to massage her head until she relaxed against his shoulder once more. He should have known better than be forceful with her. Orihime wasn't the least bit intimidated by him. Moreover, she was quite capable of ringing a peal over his head if he stepped out of line. Trying again, Ichigo quietly asked. "Do you like him?"

"Yes, I like him. Ian's a very nice man."

His hand paused, buried deep in her thick hair. "Are you going to marry him?"

"I …I don't know."

She looked vulnerable somehow, lost. Beneath Orihime's usual cheerfulness and natural optimism there lay a deep pool of sadness. It was evident in the depths of her eyes and when she tried to smile. Ichigo wished there was something he could say, some comfort he could offer. He was ill-equipped when it came to dealing with nebulous thoughts and emotions. Give him a problem to fix, a task that required action, encouraging words were not his forte.

The silence deepened until he cleared his throat. "What's next then?"

"Hmm, kissing, I suppose." she answered absentmindedly.

His heart tripped at her reply. "Kissing? What kind of plan is that?" He sputtered. Wait, was she staring at his mouth?

Her shoulders lifted in a halfhearted shrug. "Well, since I'm starting to reconsider the items on my list; k-kissing sounds like a reasonable place to start. Rukia said my future husband really should have …t-talents other than to be able to …to …"

His tongue slid out to wet his bottom lip before murmuring helpfully "Procreate."

"Yes, that." she whispered, pulling her eyes away and sitting up. "I would like us to be compatible in that respect since I do want children."

"One does not have to kiss to make children, Orihime." He muttered deadpan. Oh lord, what did he just say? Shut up now before she starts asking awkward questions. This conversation was already highly improper; it didn't need to get any worse.

She twisted her lips in a pout. "Rukia said that too. But I do think I would like kissing all the same."

"What?" He gaped, surprised by the husky longing in her voice.

"She also told me to just kiss the top three men on the list we made and make my decision afterwards."

"What?" He repeated with a croak, staring at her as if she'd lost her mind. Her and Rukia both. Was Rukia trying to ruin Orihime's reputation by having her caught in a compromising situation, one that required an immediate offer of marriage?

"Tomorrow night is Lady Carrick's Spring Ball and her garden is famous for its private gazebo …"

Ichigo immediately pictured the gazebo she spoke of; he knew it well. Set off the main path, the secluded building, smothered in sweet wisteria vines, did indeed afford a certain degree of privacy. It was the perfect spot for an assignation …just not for Orihime though.

"Maybe I should do as Rukia suggested and-"

She broke off with a squeak as the carriage jostled over the uneven cobbles. Ichigo's arm automatically shot out to keep Orihime from pitching forward and decorating the floor, and her unimaginably soft breasts flattened against the iron banded strength of his forearm. Hot moist breath rushed along his jaw as she gasped, causing her breasts to lift and swell even more against his arm. Their eyes met in the darkness of the carriage and a prickly sense of awareness sprung up between them.

With Ichigo's musky cologne drugging her senses, she pressed her shoulder blades back against the seat, trying to escape his unexpected nearness. It was the closest she'd been to him in years. There had been no dancing together. No sitting side by side on a carriage seat. In fact, hardly any touching at all. But now in the space of a few short moments, he'd rubbed his long fingers through her hair so tenderly, awakening emotions she thought long dead, and then to be caught up in his strong arms ...

Orihime's breath shuddered out as she dropped her gaze, feeling oddly off kilter, unsettled, a stranger in her own skin. Pleating the silky fabric of her skirts between her fingers, creasing it hopelessly, she willed her heart to slow its frantic pace. It was only Ichigo. She was immune to him. She was. At least that's what she kept telling herself.

Feeling the weight of his stare, she swallowed before lifting her eyes and gave him a wobbly smile. "Is …is that how you treat all the women who ride in your carriage?" she teased breathlessly, trying to ease past the awkward moment.

Ichigo couldn't understand for the life of him what provoked him …the quaver in her voice, the melting softness in her gaze, the sweetly innocent scent of her perfume. But in the next minute he flicked open the three fabric covered closures on his tailcoat with an almost indiscernible sweep of his hand and twisted his body towards her. "No," he murmured slowly, thoughtfully, as his dark gaze casually dropped to her heaving breasts and back up again, "that's not how I treat a lady I have alone in my carriage."

She wanted to sample kisses and play the flirt, did she? Well then, he would have to show her just how naïve that thinking was before she ended up in trouble. His hand extended slowly, giving her every chance to stop him. She didn't. Her eyes were impossibly wide in her face as she watched his fingers dance across her thigh as it smoothed the crumpled fabric of her gown. His hand then glided over the curve of her hip to rest on the indent of her narrow waist, allowing her to feel the possessive weight of his hand and the warmth of it seeping through her skirts.

"I-Ichigo?" His name was nothing more than a raspy gasp of air. She was curious as to his intentions but not protesting.

The corner of his mouth curved up as her eyes met his. Orihime talked about procreation and even kissing as if they were a mechanical process, as long as the necessary parts were assembled, it would work. She didn't even begin to understand the sensual pull between a man and a woman, the slow burn of arousal, the heightened senses, the glory and rapture found in release. She had no experience in this sphere. But it was time she learned.

His hand left the hollow of her waist, fingers brushing up the side of her body and teased the soft underside of her breast with the slow sweep of his thumb. Ichigo clenched his jaw, holding back a moan that matched hers and gradually drew away. He watched with a sense of primitive triumph as her body instinctively strained towards his hand like a puppet whose strings had been pulled.

She was his. He could do whatever he wanted with her right now and she'd not stop him or complain in any way, but enjoy herself fully just as a woman should.

Twining a long strand of hair around his finger until it was taut; Ichigo towed her forward. "You're a fool if you think you can carry through with that plan of yours."

Her eyes closed as a shiver coursed through her tense body. "W-what do you mean?" She whispered.

Closing the last bit of distance between them, Ichigo's arm slid behind her, firming his hold. "Orihime," his lips brushed against her hair, "Can Bletchley make your heart race or your knees weak? Does anyone on that list make you feel like this?"

This was no longer a game, a lesson for her to learn. It was real. Ichigo thought distractedly as he tilted up her chin with his knuckles. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted Orihime, his best friend. And he wanted her bad. The realization was surprising. Troubling and utterly impossible.

The carriage slowed and rolled to a stop. With their bodies only a hairsbreadth apart, they sat frozen, staring at each other in silence while the coach rocked as the footman climbed down from his perch on the back.

Her tongue flicked out to wet her dry lips and Ichigo's eyes flared as they followed the small motion. "It …it seems we've arrived." She said shakily.

Swallowing audibly, he dragged his gaze from her glistening lips and glanced out the carriage window to see her front door sweep wide as Giles stepped out. "So it does." Ichigo replied unnecessarily, his voice rough with strain, his body hard and aching.

Oh yes, they'd arrived. But the question was, just where was this new place? And what the devil was he to do now?

**~o0o~**

A/N: I have to say thank you for all the wonderful reviews. I apologize for not always being able to reply to all of them, but I do appreciate each and every one.

Sorry it took me so long to update -according to Usagi, 27 + days too long. Forgive me; I've been fighting/procrastinating over two paragraphs for the last two weeks now. I hope it was at least worth the wait. :) There are probably only two/three chapters left, and maybe a short epilogue. I plan to get them out as quickly as possible so I can return to my other stories.

Thanks for reading. ~Rairakku


	5. Chapter 5

**Schemes vs. Seduction **

Chapter Five: Where their world shatters and falls to pieces

Bleach; Ichihime AU Regency England

Word Count: 6867

Warning: T+; minor adult situations

Disclaimer: all characters herein are the property of Kubo Tite.

*Amazing fanart for this project was created by the wonderfully talented Child of the Ashes (remove the spaces)

child-of-the-ashes. deviantart art/ FLOL-Fanwork-Challenge-253302134

child-of-the-ashes. deviantart art/ FLOL-Fanwork-Challenge-Rework-298798101

**~o0o~**

Ichigo stared down a set of darkened stairs and gawked in surprise. He must have had more to drink tonight than he thought. Why else would he be at his parents' house in the middle of the night instead of his bachelor lodgings a few blocks away. It only made sense seeing as he'd ended the evening drinking in the privacy of his office, boot heels propped on the fireplace andiron and cursing the confusion one extremely vexing woman caused him tonight.

"Excuse me, if you please."

He jerked his head to the side at the nasally request before being helplessly spun around as a gaudy dressed young man pranced past wearing impossibly high heeled shoes, an absolute tulip of fashion from the look of him. Ichigo curled his lip; glad to have never fallen into such a ridiculous state. He prided himself on following Brummell's code of dress that advocated cleanliness, dark understated –but perfectly tailored clothing, and being impeccably turned out at all times.

Except for now.

Ichigo scowled as his hands glided over a deep blue silk covered chest and looked down to see his bare toes curl against the cold marble floor. Why was he wearing only his banyan? He'd never been one for a nightshirt and cap, but that didn't explain why was he was standing practically naked at the head of his mother's darkened rococo ballroom.

This had to be a dream –it had to be. There was no other logical explanation. Even with that realization, his hand still crept up and pulled the two halves of his robe together at the base of his throat, acutely aware of his nakedness underneath. Thinking of retreating to his old bedroom on the third floor until this dream ended, his feet instead curiously followed the thready sound of laughter and drunken music coming from the long gallery.

His ancestors scowled down from the many portraits lining the walls; they –like him were probably wondering what all these people were doing here. A line of fashionably dressed men, and more than a few women, threaded through the long dimly lit gallery but no one paid any attention to his clothing –or lack thereof, and he gradually relaxed enough to look around.

"Pardon." He stopped and looked over his shoulder to see an old school friend trying to make his way past with a bashful smile on his face. "Oh, Kurosaki, I see even you are game to try your luck." Ichigo arched a brow in silent inquiry but his friend merely laughed and then drifted off without explanation.

He followed with the intention of getting some answers when he came to a sudden stop as a beringed hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"_Non non-non_, I was here for _ma petit_ first. You, _vas-t'en_, to the end of the line."

Ichigo pulled away from the hand griping his shoulder and stared in surprise at the immaculately dressed man he knew only recently joined the French consulate. What was going on here? He craned his neck, trying to see above the milling crowd. Instead, he began picking out faces of people he never would have expected to see in his parents' house –the stammering assistant from Hatchard's lending library, a group of lanky boys from the foundling hospital, the grubby child who swept the crossing whenever Orihime went for her morning walk.

And there, at the head of the room, he saw another familiar face. Rukia sat at a small wooden table almost hidden from sight and Ichigo elbowed his way forward. She checked something off on the page before her and called out a name in a crisp clear voice. The crowd tittered in amusement and he stumbled as the line advanced.

The whisper of a name, and talk of a competition of sorts playing out at the front of the room, froze Ichigo in place.

No, it couldn't be. She wouldn't dare …

He broke through the line only to see his fears confirmed.

She would.

With her thick hair upswept in a mass of gleaming russet curls and looking resplendent in a shimmering beaded black silk gown, Orihime stood to the left of Rukia on a small dais. She smiled and laughed gaily with the crowd, looking as if she were having the time of her life.

Ichigo's mouth thinned with displease and he pushed his way forward with renewed determination as she began to tick a slender finger back and forth between two men as if she were playing a children's game of ennie-meenie-minie-mo. His mouth opened with a wordless bellow just as she made her choice and stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss Lord Bletchley full on the mouth.

Ichigo bolted upright, drenched in cold sweat; his lungs working like bellows.

A dream, only a dream. He was at home, in his office. It was only a dream. He repeated, pressing a hand over his mouth while waiting for his nausea to subside.

Ichigo cursed the fine French brandy he drank before falling asleep; knowing it likely caused him to have that dream –among others. Pushing that to the far –far corner of his mind, he stood unsteadily and stretched, his body stiff and aching from sleeping in such an unnatural position. His foot knocked over an empty bottle sitting on the floor beside his chair. It must still be early if his man, Timmons hadn't been in to clean and chide him up to bed.

Giving the clock a cursory glance, he leaned a hand against the mantelpiece and stared down at the cold ash from last night's fire. He'd sat there for hours last night, staring into the dancing flames and thinking of their ride home from the opera –the beguiling heat, her eyes wide with wonder, the sound of their ragged breathing. And then, the way Orihime thanked him for the ride home, telling him it had been educational before bolting for her door in a flurry of crushed ivory skirts. Educational, my ass. If his carriage hadn't stopped when it did …

What was he saying? This was Orihime, his best friend. She trusted him, believed in him –even when he didn't deserve it. Ichigo slammed his fist down on the mantle in frustration, jostling the cards and invitations placed there for his approval.

One second away from sweeping them aside in a fit a temper, his fingers slowly uncurled and reached for the stack. He flicked through the invitations and dropped them carelessly to the floor until he found a crisp white envelope addressed to him in the slanted feminine hand of Lady Carrick. Her Spring Ball was tonight, the self-same ball at which Orihime planned to advance her ill-conceived marriage plans.

Not if he could help it.

Ichigo carried the invitation across the room and tapped it on the edge of his desk, thinking, planning. He could always stay close to her side tonight and prevent her from doing anything rash. He could, but he'd rather not cause a scene before the ton when Orihime put him in his place for what she'd call interfering. And if she didn't, his mother or Rukia surely would.

He dropped into his chair and massaged his forehead with his fingertips. All he wanted to do was keep her from making a bad decision. Minutes –or maybe even hours, passed before he decided to just send her a note and add a friendly piece of advice.

But couldn't that also be called interfering?

The devil take that kind of thinking. She needed to hear this. Ichigo snapped upright and reached for a crisp clean piece of parchment. Between Rukia's half-baked plans and his mother encouraging her to be bold, he was the only voice of reason in Orihime's life right now.

**~o0o~**

"My lady, I'm sorry to say we weren't expecting you today."

Orihime turned from where she stood off to the side watching several of the foundling hospital's boys as they carried crates down the dim hallway to see the director head her way. The plain white-washed walls and scuffed plank floors were in stark contrast to the man's neatly pressed suit and polished shoes in much the same way a thistle differed from an orchid. She mused even as she returned his bow with a brief curtsy.

"Good morning, Mr. Willoughby. I must apologize for arriving unannounced. I wanted to be here when the printer delivered the books for the classroom."

"But, my lady -"

"I am sorry for disrupting your schedule, but I just couldn't wait to see the children's expressions." She clapped her hands together and bounced down the hall after the boys and her footman before he could try to stop her.

Down the hall and up a narrow flight of stair, Orihime entered a common room where the hospital's wards took their lessons and played of an evening after chores. She personally thanked each of the boys in turn for their help carrying the heavy crates before turning her attention to the other children in the room.

They stared at the books with reverence, afraid to touch them. For some, it was likely the first time they'd ever seen a book up close. Their lives up to this point, reading or learning of any kind were unthought-of when other basic needs –like survival came first. She kneeled next to a whispering group of girls, tugged a crate closer, and began unpacking the books with care. Orihime smiled, happy to see this box contained her special surprise, and encouraged the girls to help her.

Timid at first, they gradually loosened up and oohed and aahed when they saw the beautiful books inside. They weren't books on letters, morally uplifting sermons, or etiquette, but illustrated fairytales, heroic accounts of knights in armor, and fantastical fables from other lands. Because while Orihime believed that practicality had its place in the world, she also thought, these children –all children deserved a chance to dream.

She left the girls quietly turning through the pages and continued unpacking books along with her footman and maid until Willoughby returned to hover in the doorway.

"You don't have to dirty your hands with such work, my lady. We hire a great many people to take care of such chores." He said sonorously and gestured to two of the ward's matrons to take over with the unpacking.

Orihime handed the last two books in her crate to a solemn-faced girl who placed them on a shelf before she answered with a bright smile. "I don't mind. I like helping."

She dusted off her gloved hands and checked the watch pinned to her blouse before thanking the girl at her side for her help and received a small smile in return. Orihime beamed, getting Maude to smile was quite the accomplishment. The poor girl had eyes that had seen far too much for one so young. Next, she wanted to hear the serious girl laugh. However, that would have to wait until next time. It was time to go; Lady Blackpoint expected her soon.

Willoughby stood in the doorway as Orihime said her goodbyes to the children and then waited until she stepped into the hall to ask. "I assume we can count on your support again this quarter? Your donation is a great help to us." He gushed and gave a sweeping bow.

She shifted in discomfort and suppressed a pained grimace at Willoughby's exaggerated obsequiousness behavior. Instead, she smiled in thanks to the young man who opened the front door for her before glancing back to reassure the hospital's director. "You can expect my continued patronage. In addition, I will talk with my solicitor this afternoon about raising my donation to cover the deficit in the budget you mentioned before."

Willoughby's lined face lit up with excitement and he bowed low once more. "That would be most appreciated, my lady. You are most generous."

Nodding in farewell, Orihime stepped down the shallow steps into the sun with Peggy on her heels and returned to her waiting carriage. She mentally ran through her list of errands before she stopped short at the winded young man wearing Kurosaki colors handing off a missive to her footman, John.

"My lady, this just arrived for you."

"Yes, I can see that." She laughed lightly while nodding in other man's direction. John grinned in return and passed her the folded paper. Her thin brows furrowed when turning it over she caught sight of a distinctive red wax seal. Orihime assumed it was a missive from Lady Blackpoint, not her son.

She slid the gloved tip of a finger under the flap and broke the seal. Her eyes stared in disbelief at the single slashing line of Ichigo's message before she turned it over. She flipped it back a second later when there was nothing further to read.

She folded Ichigo's note into a tight precise square and then folded it again, and again. "There's a change in plans." Orihime said, turning to the Kurosaki footman and gesturing to the waiting carriage. "You're welcome to join John on back since we are heading in the same direction."

Her footman held out a white gloved hand and helped her into the carriage, "To Blackpoint's then?"

Orihime shook her head as she settled against the cushioned seat, "No, to Lord Kurosaki's lodgings first. I have some business to take care of there."

Once Peggy took the seat opposite of her, the carriage rocked into motion. The sharp edge of Ichigo's note dug into her palm and her thoughts went winging across town to Mount Street with its line of stately tall thin houses made of gray Portland stone, the place Ichigo called home.

It seemed to her as if the carriage had only been moving for a minute or two before it rolled to a stop in front of Ichigo's residence. She tapped her foot as her eyes strayed out the window to where John approached the front door with her calling card. Too impatient to wait for him to inquire if Ichigo was in, Orihime lowered herself from the carriage and marched up the short set of stairs, leaving her maid to scramble after her.

"Good morning, Timmons." She said cheerfully as soon as the door opened, and then shocked both Ichigo's man and her footman by stepping over the threshold uninvited. "Is Lord Kurosaki in his office?" She pointed to the hall on her right, not slowing her step.

"My lady-"

She raised her chin and walked on. She was on a mission to beard a lion in his own den; no one could stop her now.

"Orihime, what are you doing here?"

She came to an abrupt halt, taken off guard by Ichigo striding towards her in a surprising state of dishabille. Wearing neither coat nor waistcoat, and with his fine linen shirt rolled up to his elbows, revealing tanned muscular forearms, he almost looked like an exact replica of the man who stalked through her restless dreams late last night, messy spiked hair and all.

He stared down at her from under lowered brows and took her by the arm, trying to guide her back to the front door. "You can't call on a bachelor at his residence; it just isn't done. Think of your reputation."

Her heels dug in and she shook off his restraining hand -all the while cursing her shaky weak knees. "I did. Peggy is with me." Orihime finally said as she looked across the foyer to her patiently waiting maid.

She dithered for a moment, wanting to keep Peggy with her to act as a buffer between her and Ichigo, but that was ridiculous. She stopped needing a chaperone years ago. Besides, the likelihood of Ichigo repeating last night's sensual lesson was slim to none. He already made his point.

Orihime gave her permission with a small nod as she waved Peggy off. Ichigo's brow rose as he glanced between Orihime and the green baize door that just closed behind Timmons and her maid. "Your cook is Peggy's older sister." She answered the apparent question in his gaze before bustling down the short hall and through the open door into his office. "They can visit while we talk."

He stopped just inside the doorway and leaned against the frame as he watched her wander around the darkly paneled room. "Doesn't that defeat the whole purpose of bringing your maid with you?"

"Pish and tosh, Ichigo, you know it's for appearances sake only."

Ichigo raked a hand through his already messed up hair and groaned. "Since you're here, I take it you received my message?"

She nodded shortly.

He stepped into the room and pushed the door until it was an inch from the frame –but technically remained open, granting them privacy while still adhering to the rules.

"You're angry." He said after a moment of watching her pace.

"No."

Ichigo lifted an orange brow in mock disbelief.

Her mouth tightened and she gave the smug man her back. Angry, what right did she have to be angry? Her dearest friend only ordered her to not do anything stupid and kiss anyone tonight. His words, almost verbatim. Her hands curled into tight fists, her fingernails cutting through the thin leather of her gloves and into her palms. Well, he was stupid every night, so why couldn't she?

Orihime's eyes moved over the thick rug under her feet to the ceiling high shelves packed with books as she tried to calm down. She'd always disliked fighting and raised voices, but … "You're not my brother. You realize this, don't you?" She finally said in a clipped tone, the words practically bursting from her.

"I know I'm not-"

She spun around to face Ichigo head on, her arm held out before her with one finger raised, silencing him. "I am 25 years old; I'm not a child. You can't keep telling me what to do."

He stared back at her silently while a nerve flickered in his jaw. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do." Ichigo enunciated carefully before pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes tight. "I'm just trying to …to-"

"Protect me." She finished for him with a small frown. "I know this, but …" she rested her hip on the edge of his polished desk and sighed. Orihime didn't want to quarrel with him, but he couldn't continue to order her around as if she were a ninnyhammer without so much as a brain in her head. They'd been through this self-same thing years ago after Sora died. Ichigo needed to trust her to make her own decisions. And if need be, her own mistakes.

Orihime trailed her fingers over an ornate mother-of-pearl snuffbox sitting in a patch of sunlight beside his inkstand. She opened and closed the small box repeatedly as she tried to rein in her emotions until strong tanned fingers closed over hers, silencing the repetitive noise.

"I don't want you to get hurt."

She lifted her eyes to meet his at his low murmur. The air seemed to crackle between them and her breath stalled in her chest. It was just like last night in the darkness of his carriage –the undeniable sensual pull, the thrill of anticipation, and the reasons she was angry with him slowly disappeared one by one.

Ichigo must have read the uncertainty in her gaze and reached for her, his knuckles brushing over her cheek. She gasped and trembled at the contact and his eyes changed, darkened. He leaned in, whispering. "Hime?"

With her heart racing, she pulled away, the allure of his heated gaze broken. "No, you can't do that." He was not allowed to use that nickname to soften her up, nor use this physical attraction to befuddle her senses and get his way. Not this time, she was wise to his tricks.

"What?" Ichigo asked, clearly bewildered.

She looked at him with a kind of helpless frustration. He meant well; Ichigo always meant well, but …

"You –you can't protect me forever, Ichigo."

"Yes, I can."

And he honestly believed it. She could tell by the stiff set of his shoulders and the way the corners of his mouth tightened –not in anger, but in determination. He was adamant in his belief that he could –and would protect her for life. All because of that silly promise he made years ago.

"No." Orihime said softly and fidgeted with the polished buttons of her apple-green pelisse in a restless motion, knowing her words would offend him. "It's not your place to do so."

"I don't care, I promised you-"

She pressed the tip of a gloved finger over his mouth, cutting him off and shook her head. He was her dearest friend and Orihime was grateful for his concern, but she couldn't back down now.

Ichigo must have realized her mind was firmly made up by the look in her eyes. If not, her next words left him in no doubt.

"I'll be careful tonight, and _that_ is the only thing I will promise you."

**~o0o~**

Ichigo couldn't remember the last time he felt such apprehension on entering a ballroom.

The last several hours could not be counted among his best. His temper had raged, he sulked –even a trip to Angelo's on Haymarket Street for a bout of swordplay failed to snap him out of his bad mood.

And it was all because of Orihime. She was making him second-guess his intentions and doubt things he always believed to be true.

In the end, Ichigo dressed for the evening in his standard black and white, determined to watch over her –if only for afar. He even arrived early at the Carrick's ball and knew he would stay until Orihime departed –correction, until Orihime departed as innocent as she arrived.

The thought echoed in his mind when, after stopping to have a quick word with an old acquaintance, he finally caught sight of her. She was whirling through the steps of a spritely country-dance, oblivious to his focused stare. With copper curls piled high and threaded with ribbon and pearls, Orihime laughed up at Harcourt, her partner for this dance -and a fortune hunter of ill repute.

Ichigo clenched his hands into fists at the sight of both her unacceptable partner and the color of her gown. She was wearing red -Regimental Red, the color of action and confidence in Orihime's book. There would be no hiding in the card room tonight; she was serious. He excused himself from the group and moved further to his left before leaning against a thick marble column. Ichigo fixed his eyes on Orihime and waited.

She bounced through a set of turns and glanced around. Orihime saw him –and missed her next step. She looked away quickly, apologized to her partner, and didn't look his way again.

His lips curled up at the edges in a satisfied smile as he kept Orihime's bright head in his line of vision. She may plan to skip down the path of ruin, heedless of any danger, but he wouldn't let her. It was his job to protect her –regardless of her conflicting thoughts on the matter, and he would continue do so, even if he had to protect her from herself.

At the end of the dance, she returned to her vacuous circle of admirers on the side opposite. To Ichigo's irritation, Harcourt followed, casting a covetous eye over her slender frame before taking a place at her side. He bit back an instinctive snarl. What did a bastard with pockets to let think he was doing slavering over Orihime as if she were a juicy treat ready to be snapped up.

Ichigo was one step from crossing onto the dance floor before he snapped out of his blinding rage. He blinked and his social mask slid smoothly into place. He nodded at the surprised faces around him and retreated to a quiet corner to think.

Dazed by his unreasonable burst of anger, Ichigo was prefect prey for his hostess, and Lady Carrick took full advantage of his inattention by pushing a young miss in front of him. He played nice, and politely suffered through an introduction, taking pity on the stammering young girl.

If he were thinking clearly –and not still puzzling over his possessiveness of Orihime, he would have excused himself immediately. However, he wasn't thinking clearly, and it wasn't long before every mother with a daughter on the marriage mart formed a line, pressing for an introduction.

He bowed yet again over the lace-covered knuckles of yet another young miss not long from the schoolroom. Ichigo straightened with a neutral expression on his face and tried to keep an eye on a certain redhead while attempting to make polite small talk. He failed miserably. That didn't seem to bother Baron Pederson's daughter though. She hung onto his arm and looked up at him as if he personally hung the moon and stars.

Smothering a scowl, his eyes glanced around, then darted back over the top of the crowd. Where was she? He happened to catch a meaningful look from Renji as he turned his petite black-haired partner in step with the music. Ichigo followed his pointed nod just in time to see Orihime, on Harcourt's arm, as she slipped out a pair of French door and into the terrace.

The little troublemaker.

Ichigo made his excuses and extricated himself from the crowd surrounding him. A few weren't pleased to lose his attentions and one in particular clung possessively to his arm. He bit back a curse and smoothly removed Miss Pederson's hand from his arm. He squeezed her hand and bowed once more with practiced urbane charm before following his reckless friend out into Lady Carrick's prized garden.

Numerous couples strolled the terrace, taking advantage of the mild night to catch a breath of fresh air. He nodded in response to a few greetings as he walked the length of the terrace and out of the ballroom's pool of light.

Shallow steps led down with paths forking off in different directions. Ichigo took the center path leading to the gazebo found at the heart of the garden and quickened his pace. His face set in hard uncompromising lines as followed the darkened gravel paths, listening for any clue as to her location. Then he heard it, her achingly familiar voice, and he took the curving path on his left.

A faint breeze blew toward him, rustling branches, and carrying the sound of a low breathless giggle from the direction of the gazebo. He was still in time. Orihime only giggled like that when she was nervous or unsure of how to proceed in an unfamiliar situation.

He rounded the corner and found her standing in the middle of the path, her back to him, and giggling once more as Harcourt raised her hand to his lips. A swift shadow of anger swept across his face and Ichigo broke in without apology. "Ah, here you are."

Harcourt heard the underlying edge of menace in his tone and jumped back in an impressive act of self-preservation.

The gravel under feet crunched as Orihime spun around, her face paling. "Wha-"

He moved a step closer and chucked her playfully under the chin in an easygoing manner they were well known for. "If you wanted some air, you should have just said so instead of skipping out on our dance."

"B-but-"

Ichigo cut off her protests smoothly and turned to face the other man. "You're welcome to return, Harcourt. I'll see Lady Orihime back inside in a moment." He said, not even trying to hide his feral smile.

Harcourt's dark eyes darted from Orihime's face to Ichigo's as if he were trying to decide if her money was worth him losing a piece of his hide to the infamous Kurosaki temper. Fear won out, he made a quick bow in Orihime's direction, thanking her for the pleasure of her company, and fled.

He blocked Orihime's way when she would have followed, immovable, implacable. She looked up at him with a frown, aware he wouldn't move until he was ready. "What are you even doing here?"

"That should be patently obvious –I'm stopping you from making a fool of yourself."

"I-I thought I told you not to tell me what to do."

He scowled down at her and grumbled. "Damn, when you make up your mind to do something, you don't waste any time."

Orihime crossed her arms over her chest and turned her face away, making no reply.

Ichigo eyed her tense form from under lowered brows. She'd never given him the silent treatment before. Could Orihime really have been looking forward to her first kiss that much –even if it was with a fortune hunter with an agenda of his own?

He reached up to knead the knotted muscles in the back of his neck while trying to ignore the guilt curling in his gut. "Fine, I guess you'll just have to make do with me."

She did a rapid double take. "W-what did you say?"

His knuckles tilted up her chin. "Kiss me, Orihime." He said, suddenly realizing this was not about assuaging his guilt but something so much more –something that had been building between them for years.

"W-what …" her anger evaporated, leaving only confusion, "You?"

"Yes me. Or am I not acceptable as Harcourt?"

Her hands restlessly smoothed over her full skirts in a repetitive motion as if she were trying to calm herself. The silence stretched between them until Orihime finally answered. "It's not that, Ichigo." She lifted her eyes to his, her brow delightfully furrowed. She searched his face in the dim light and slowly relaxed. "Are you certain?"

"Are you?"

Orihime ducked her head, her cheeks flushing with dark color. "I –I don't know what to do."

He heard the nervous fluster in her voice, and sensed her rising curiosity. Inwardly, he grinned. "Then consider this your first lesson."

Her breath rushed out in astonishment, "My first lesson –in kissing?"

Ichigo hummed in affirmation and guided her left hand up his chest to rest on his shoulder. Her fingers reflexively curled into the soft material of his coat before slowly relaxing and laying still, waiting. "Close your eyes." He said as his arm encircled her narrow waist, his hand settling in the small of her back.

"Do I have to?"

His lips lifted in a smile. Trust Orihime to question him every step of the way. "No, you don't have to. It was only a suggestion."

She mulled over his words for a second before nodding. "Then, I'll bow to your greater expertise." Orihime's eyes drifted closed trustingly and she pursed her lips as if she were exchanging kisses with a fish.

"Relax." He murmured as his hand cradled her jaw.

"I …I am." Once her lips softened to form the words, Ichigo bent his head and set his lips to hers.

Gently.

If he were thinking, he would have said it was because this was her first kiss and it should be soft and beautiful –everything a woman dreamed her first kiss would be. But that wasn't the case; he wasn't thinking of anything at all. His mind blanked of everything but sensation –the sweet sensation found in her kiss.

His hand shifted from her jaw to her nape, his long fingers threading through the loose wispy strands of her hair. She quivered in his embrace, and then surrendered. His breath caught in his throat as she stepped closer of her own accord, her straining bodice brushing the front of his coat. His lips moved over hers, shifting, luring, encouraging until Orihime parted her own, and he surged in.

He slanted his mouth over hers. His lips teased, tasted, explored and she melted into the kiss with a soft sound of acceptance. She clung to him, needing his support as he plundered her lush mouth. Orihime took him in, lured him further, and left them both gasping, chests heaving.

Orihime pressed herself to him, crushing her full breasts against the hard planes of his chest. "Ichigo, please." she murmured, twining her arms around his neck.

He raised his mouth from hers and gazed into her eyes. She was so innocent in her responses, holding nothing back, every emotion on display for him to see, and Ichigo could not look away. He wanted to tell her he cared, that he didn't want her kissing Bletchley –or anyone else for that matter. But the words wouldn't come.

Her hand burrowed under his jacket to stroke his abdomen in curious exploration. "Ichigo, please." She repeated urgently, her hot breath puffing over his cheek.

Not giving her a chance to change her mind; his lids lowered, long lashes screening the intent in his dark eyes. "Lesson two." His lips brushed against hers as he spoke before he covered them hungrily.

She sank into his embrace and he tightened his arms around her sweetly curved body. His lips firmed, and then hardened on hers and Orihime made no effort to deny him. She angled her head, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He did. And she followed his lead readily, giving of herself generously, wholeheartedly.

Curving his hands over her shoulders, his fingers trailed over her hidden curves even as his lips seared a path down neck, her shoulders, the rounded tops of her breasts. Ichigo ached, his body hard and yearning for her. His lips moved over her heated skin and she arched in his arms. When, at last, he lifted his head, Orihime pressed herself to him. He took the lips she offered –and Ichigo feasted.

It was the tensing of her fingers in his hair, the helpless swaying of her body, the driving need to take this much further, that finally snapped him back to reality.

What the hell were they doing?

He drew back, forcing his arms to unlock, and broke the kiss. His heart thundered in time with hers in the silence that followed before Ichigo drew in a huge breath. "We –we should return before we're missed." He said, his voice still thick with desire.

Orihime nodded in agreement with eyes downcast, her breath coming out in a ragged pant. She whispered words of apology as she untangled her fingers from his hair before going still as a statue. His head jerked up, he heard the sound the same time as her and turned to glare at whoever dared intrude.

Ichigo moved to stand in front of her, but it was too late. There was no hiding it; they'd already been seen. Several young couples under the watchful eye of an aged chaperone got more than they bargained for when they decided to take this path. And leading the pack was the clingy chit from earlier -the one that flirted with a skill well beyond her years.

Miss Pederson stood in the center of the path, staring at them in surprise before a smile curled her lips. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

"It appears to be Lord Kurosaki …a-and Lady Orihime." One of her companions supplied helpfully –and to Ichigo's mind quite unnecessarily.

He stared them down -not with the usual mask of a bored aristocrat, but with a face of an avenging angel, daring them to say another word –to even think about damaging Orihime's good name. Ichigo heard a pained whimper come from behind him and forced himself to calm down. He couldn't salvage her reputation if he lost control his temper –but with the way his luck was running tonight, it should have come as no surprise when yet another group rounded the corner.

Ichigo stared speechless, his mind stuttered to a halt. His mother, Renji and Rukia, along with his sister, Karin and Lord Bletchley all stared back –equally dumbfounded.

.

.

.

The next several minutes passed in a haze. One moment, she was in the garden, being kissed by Ichigo in the most delightful fashion imaginable, and the next, Lady Blackpoint towed her inside and through a side door to this small parlor.

Masaki rang for a servant and paced while she waited, not saying a word. Which was all well and good, since Orihime didn't think she could string a coherent sentence together to save her life. Thankfully, a maid arrived shortly, breaking the tense silence before departed soon after with a request to deliver a message.

In no time at all, Isshin and Lord Bletchley escorted a scowling Ichigo inside. Lord and Lady Carrick entered fast on their heels –not ones to miss such a juicy on-dit happening in their own home no less. Orihime's lips quivered when Ichigo's sisters slipped in and came directly to her, standing supportively on either side. Finally, Renji, Rukia, and her censorious-faced brother, Byakuya, along with several witnesses from the garden joined them.

Orihime could feel the weight of their stares. Ichigo tried to warn her that this would happen. But she wouldn't listen, and now, she was ruined. It was unfair, but those were the rules of the world she inhabited. Men, single or otherwise, could do as they pleased as long they were discreet –and even then, the rule wasn't always enforced. But an unmarried female risked ostracism from society for even stepping a toe out of line by thought, word, or deed. However, she just did more than step over the line, she gleefully leaped over it –and for a few glorious moments, she flew.

Her eyes closed for the merest instant in regret before darting to the side to see Isshin and Masaki talking to their son in hushed voices. Lord Bletchley and the Carrick's stood nearby watching, the first with frustration burning in his pale blue eyes, while the other two eyed the group with avid disapproval. It wasn't Ichigo fault; he was only trying to protect her and satisfy her unreasonable requests. They should aim their contemptuous looks her way.

She shivered in the overly warm room, hoping against hope the situation could still be put rights. Yuzu and Karin moved protectively closer, and Orihime felt tears prickle in her eyes. Feeling terribly vulnerable and not acting at all like her normal self, she was grateful for their calming presence.

Swallowing, she tried to talk around the lump in her throat. "M-maybe no one will say anything. They did promise your mother, after all." Orihime said hoarsely, remembering how Masaki took control of the situation in the garden with a firm hand and the sweetest of glares. Everyone had tripped over themselves in their haste to fall in with the countesses wishes.

Karin shook her dark head, sinking the last of her hopes. "The whispers have already made the rounds in the ballroom. Yuzu knew before I could even find her. That catty Eliza Pederson would not be silenced after suffering such a disappointment."

Ichigo's eyes unerringly found hers and the lump in her throat sank into her stomach like a stone. Even as he pushed his father out of his face and moved to stand beside her, Orihime knew –she just knew what he was going to say next.

"There's nothing to discuss," Ichigo said with a sharp slashing motion of his hand, his voice carrying easily over the many raised voices in the room. "We will marry as soon as I acquire a special license."

The corners of her mouth strained in a brave attempt to smile while Ichigo stared ahead when the people surrounding them switched instantly from worry and censure to boisterous congratulations now that the crisis had passed.

However, for her, the crisis had only just begun. Orihime stood frozen beside an equally rigid Ichigo as he accepted congratulations (Renji offered commiserations) from their friends and his family. Her marry Ichigo? Not like this. She never dreamed her search for a husband would end like this.

Even as Masaki hugged her and kissed her cold cheek, welcoming her to the family, Orihime felt heartsick, like her heart literally wanted to throw up and purge all these painful emotions roiling around inside. So many happy excited faces surrounded her and all she could think of was this had to be a nightmare –it just had to. She couldn't let this continue further. It didn't matter if she was banished from society. She couldn't –wouldn't let Ichigo do this.

"No."

Ichigo must have heard her pained whisper and turned towards her solicitously –always aware, always caring. And that's what made this so difficult …

Orihime twisted her fingers together, only lifting her gaze to the intricate knot in his cravat and the glowing amber stone nestled within the soft folds. She didn't want to see his expression or the angry emotions that would undoubtedly flare to life when she said what she had to.

"I'm sorry, Ichigo …"

Talk around them trailed off and awkwardly died as the others, sensing something more was afoot, leaned in to hear.

"But I won't marry you."

**~o0o~**

A/N: There are only two more chapters to go –and maybe a short epilogue. With luck, it won't take me long to finish them. As always, thanks for reading. ~Rairakku


	6. Chapter 6

**Schemes vs. Seduction **

Chapter Six: The Truth Unspoken

Bleach; Ichihime AU Regency England

Word Count: 6391

Warning: M; adult situations implied

Disclaimer: all characters herein are the property of Kubo Tite.

*Amazing fanart for this project was created by the wonderfully talented Child of the Ashes (remove the spaces)

child-of-the-ashes. deviantart art/ FLOL-Fanwork-Challenge-253302134

child-of-the-ashes. deviantart art/ FLOL-Fanwork-Challenge-Rework-298798101

**~o0o~**

Several days after making her announcement that shocked –and titillated the ton, Orihime stood alone in her sitting room as bright morning light slanted through gauze curtains and spilled across the polished floor. Her hands reflexively slid over the skirts of her sprigged muslin dress while she stared at the back of the recently closed door.

It must have pained her solicitor to deliver such news. She could see it in his eyes and the awkward way he shuffled his feet. Mr. Lawson physically cringed when he informed her that Mr. Willoughby returned her cheque only a few hours earlier. The hospital's director also seen fit to include a tersely worded note informing the offices of Bennett and Lawson that the trustees of the foundling hospital no longer required the patronage of their client, a one Lady Orihime, nor would her future presence at the facility be welcome.

That was that. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was time to pack.

Rukia found her on the first floor some hours later directing her servants, and consulting with both Giles and Mrs. Avery on what to do with the larger furnishing in the house. Orihime's face lit up with a bright smile and she waved her over, her heart swelling with gratefulness and love. Her friend once again braved the gossips and visited amidst this messy scandal.

A footman gave Rukia a brief bow as he passed on his way downstairs, his arms loaded with boxes. She stepped back to allow him through, a tiny hand reached up to steady the straw hat perched at an elegant angle atop her shiny black curls. "Sorry, there was no one at the door so I left myself in." She said while resuming her way down the hall.

The loud thump of feet thundering down the upper stories had her lifting her eyes to the source. "What's this?" Her shoulder blades pressed against the wall, allowing another footman and the stable lad to pass as they maneuvered a large banded trunk down the hall. Her brows rose as she rounded on Orihime with an accusatory look. "You're packing? But you promised you would talk to me before making any more plans."

Excusing herself from her staff, Orihime threaded her arm through Rukia's and drew her down the hall into the front parlor. White sheets already covered several pieces of furniture in the room including the couch where she sat beside Ichigo a few short weeks ago, told him of her dreams, and began to scheme.

Now, she stood in the shrouded silence of the room, exiled from society –a pariah, her grand plans for the future in ruins.

Orihime caught her reflection in the large mirror above the walnut sideboard. Her inner turmoil showed in the physical as well, from the dark circles under her eyes and the large white mobcap she used to cover her drooping hair, to the old frock she wore and the unnatural tightness at the corners of her mouth. Rukia paced behind her, moving in and out of her line of vision –perfectly turned-out as always, and Orihime self-consciously touched the limp lace and straining buttons lining the front of her unstylish work gown.

"You're leaving for good, aren't you?"

At her question, Orihime looked down at the stacks of periodicals placed on the polished cabinet and dropped her hand to idly trace a finger over the one on top before nodding. "It's better this way."

"Talk to him." Rukia said, her voice softly urging. "It's been two days already –and I know he's been trying to see you. The gossipmongers are having a field day."

She knew this already. Orihime didn't have to hear what her neighbors were saying, she could easily imagine. The two of them made quite the scene in the Carrick's parlor after she made her announcement. Their being caught in a compromising situation, her refusal of his offer of marriage, and their subsequent argument has been repeated until she was certain everyone –from the Prince Regent down to Baron Pederson's chimney sweep knew the exact details. They were the talk of the town.

For a private person like Ichigo, being made a public spectacle probably grated on his nerves like nothing had before. So why did he continue to put himself on display to be ridiculed by the ton by standing on her doorstep for hours at a time? She bit the edge of her thumb, thinking about his unexpected stubbornness. It was something she hadn't seen from him since they were eighteen. She held firm and did what was right for both their sakes then, and now, she had to do so again.

Orihime took a deep breath, shoring up her resolve. "I'm sorry, Rukia. I can't see him. If I talk to him, he'll run roughshod over any objections I make, simply telling me that he's doing this for my own good. You know how he is. Ichigo has a knight-in-shining-armor complex. He can't help but want to save everyone."

Rukia's lips twisted into an understanding frown and she nodded in agreement, already knowing very well Ichigo's penchant for playing the hero.

"I don't need Ichigo to ride to my rescue as he tried to do when Sora died. He was almost sent-down from university then, even going as far as saying he'd quit entirely to take care of me. Sora dying and leaving me alone wasn't his fault any more than what happened in Lady Carrick's garden the other night. Both times, it was because I selfishly clung to him and expected more than what was reasonable."

"Orihime, I just don't understand you sometimes."

"What's to understand? I had to turn Ichigo down. I won't trap him in marriage when he deserves better than that."

"But Ichigo's the only man you've ever wanted to marry."

Her shoulders slumped as if overburdened by the truth. "Right, I want to marry him –that's the key phrase." She looked over her shoulder and gave Rukia a meaningful look before turning back to the piles of paper and periodicals stacked on the sideboard. Orihime sorted those she wished to keep from those that would go to the refuse bin while she finished stating her argument. "Ichigo doesn't want to get married, not to me, not to anyone."

Rukia moved to stand at her side, watching their reflection in the gilt mirror hanging above the sideboard. "He offered though."

She waved off the notion as irrelevant. "Of course he did. He's a man of honor; his mother raised him right. And now he's convinced himself that getting married is the right thing to do." Orihime dropped the papers in her hands into an empty sack and turned to face her friend. "Don't you see, Rukia, he's protecting me again."

Rukia crossed her thin arms over her chest and gave her a skeptical look. "Was kissing you in front of witnesses the right thing to do?"

"Yes –no –the in front of witnesses part, not so much, but the kiss …" Orihime sighed, a soft wistful sound as her thoughts went winging back to the other night, "The kiss was very nice."

"Nice?" Rukia repeated with a disbelieving look on her face. "Whatever happened to the decision to marry the man whose kiss you liked best?"

"I never planned on kissing Ichigo though. I thought it would be someone -" throwing her hands up in the air, Orihime gave a frustrated groan. "I thought it would be someone who wasn't Ichigo."

"Do you even hear yourself? You're not making any sense."

Orihime shook her head and leaned in as if imparting a great secret. "Besides, it's not as if he wanted to kiss me anyway. It was just another one of his lessons where he tries to prove his point about how naïve and inexperience I am."

"Lessons?" Rukia stared at her in shock for a long drawn-out moment. "Just what have you two been doing exactly?" She said, her voice nothing more than a curious murmur. Blinking, she waved a hand through the air as she brushed aside her earlier question. "Never mind that, just tell me why are you're being so stubborn?"

"I'm not being stubborn. I'm being practical. Someday Ichigo will find a woman he truly loves, and he will want to be with her." She paused and turned her face away before continuing with quiet certainty, "And he will blame me, not with words or actions –Ichigo's too kind to ever do that, but he will blame me all the same in the back of his mind."

Rukia pressed her fingertips to her temples and moved them in little circles, her eyes closed. "He loves you." She said, enunciating each word in a controlled manner.

"Of course he does. The same as he loves you. The same as he loves his sisters."

"His feelings for you aren't that simple, Orihime. You're not giving him enough credit."

But she was. Orihime wasn't blind or deaf. She'd heard him say often enough he had no interest in marriage –and his actions spoke even louder than his words. Ichigo seemed altogether pleased with his life the way it was. That's why she refused him –she would not have it said she unfairly trapped him.

She pulled in a shaky breath, fighting back tears she promised herself she wouldn't cry. She'd already cried enough while in the privacy of her room. Busying herself by pulling several old publications from the stack, Orihime shrugged her shoulders and said, "I just want him to be happy."

Rukia grabbed the outdated fashion plates from Orihime's hands. "And who's to say being married to you won't make him happy? You two already have a better relationship than most the married couples in our circle."

"Yes, we're good friends now, but after some time, Ichigo will get bored with his sham of a wife. He'll pursue other entertainments –other women, and he will cease to belong only to me." She paused and looked across the room, her gaze focused inward.

When she next spoke, her voice was distant, lacking the normal spark of warmth and unfailing good cheer, "Given time, the love I have for him would shrivel a little more each time he started a new flirtation –indulged in another affair –lied to me about his whereabouts. Bitterness, and possibly even hate, would then creep in, changing me into something ugly, a person I despise …and that –" her lips wobbled as she swiped a traitorous tear from her cheek with the back of her hand, "that would destroy me."

The silence dragged out between them, punctuated only by the ticking of the mantel clock until Rukia dropped her eyes and sighed. She gestured to the periodicals in her hands, and after a second Orihime pointed to the rubbish sack before returning to her stacking and sorting.

They continued to work through the afternoon without saying another word about Ichigo and his proposal. Orihime filled boxes with personal items spread through the house while Rukia, with a better sense of organization and command, directed the household servants with the rest of the packing.

Hours later, Rukia stood in the emptied entryway and pinned her hat in place, using the glass beside the front door as a makeshift mirror. "I wish you would change your mind about leaving." She said as she pulled on her gloves. Turning, her large indigo eyes lifted to meet Orihime's. "I'm going to miss you terribly."

Orihime exhaled slowly and tilted her head, a tentative smile playing at the edges of her mouth. "You can always come to visit."

Rukia's expression softened and she reached up to lay her hand against Orihime's cheek. "Of course I will." She said before abandoning decorum to hug her friend tight. Pulling back an instant later, she blinked back stinging tears while Orihime did the same. "Will you be all right without my help?" she said after first clearing her throat as she returned to her no-nonsense ways.

Orihime pumped her arm, knowing Rukia alluded to much more than the packing. "I'll be fine." In a month or two –or twelve, she mused glumly even as a wide smile lifted the corners of her mouth. She wasn't fooling anyone, and Rukia was kind enough not to state the obvious.

After Giles closed the door behind her friend, Orihime had him bolt it for good measures. Rukia was always welcome, but she'd rather no one else –namely Ichigo, walk in next. With the door secured, she sent Giles off to relax in the kitchen with a reassuring smile before then retreating to her private sitting room at the back of the house to be alone with her thoughts.

The carpet runner muffled her footsteps and surprised the young maid packing books and the footman assisting her when she entered the room. Apologizing, she told them to join the group in the kitchen for a well-deserved break. Her smile stayed on her face until they left, but once the door closed, the corners of her lips dipped a little more with every step she took into the room.

Normally, this room never failed to cheer her up. It was her sanctuary. None of the furniture was fashionably matched and nowhere near new, but she loved the arrangement all the same. Sighing, she sank into the large winged chair placed in the corner and snuggled into the cushioned back. This chair in particular was her favorite though. It was her special place to curl up, stare out the window overlooking the back garden, and daydream –or think through a particularly thorny problem like the one she had now.

She needed to remain firm in her decision. Ichigo did his duty. He proposed –she declined. Now he could return to his unfettered life …or he could, if he'd stop greasing the rumor mill by showing up at her doorstep several times a day. His behavior was confusing her, and regardless of what she said to Rukia, her stance on not wanting to see him was weakening.

A sharp knock on the door was her only warning before it opened. Gasping, Orihime jerked upright, speechless at seeing Ichigo standing there as if her thoughts summoned him. It shouldn't have surprised her though. She half expected him to break-in –climb a trellis –bribe a servant eventually. Neither Giles standing guard at the front door, nor her unwillingness, would ever stop him.

"How –how did you get in?"

Ichigo pulled the door shut and she heard the unmistakable sound of the tumbler falling into place as he locked them in. He then tossed his hat and gloves onto one of the few remaining uncovered chairs before answering. "The back door is standing wide open. It's a beehive of activity."

She leaped from her chair and peered out the window –more from the need to give herself a moment to school her emotions than to see if he was correct. Feeling in command of herself once more, Orihime turned as he strolled deeper into the room, acting as if nothing was amiss. From his polished knee-high Hessians and tight tan breeches, to the tastefully patterned waistcoat and dark blue morning coat, Ichigo looked the very picture of an elegant aristocrat making a polite social call.

Looks, in this instance, would be deceiving.

Orihime's nerves twitched, urging her to flee. And she would too, if her worry over his possible retribution didn't keep her frozen in place. If she ran, the threads holding back his infamous temper would snap, and he'd chase.

It wasn't that she feared Ichigo or his temper –never that, but since they kissed she'd lost all her prior defenses when it came to him. The wall she'd kept between them had crumbled, exposing her secret yearnings, and Orihime no longer knew how to protect herself –or even how to behave. She was now aware of him in ways she'd never been before.

Her fingers curled over the back of her desk chair, needing the anchor it provided as she swallowed back her nervousness. His dark eyes flicked from the partially emptied bookcase, to the sheet-covered old sofa he used to tease her for keeping, to the tables and walls devoid of any personal ornaments.

Ichigo finished his circuit around the room and stopped at the edge of her desk with only a few feet between them. "I would hazard a guess that you are going somewhere." He prompted with a raised brow.

Such casual words. However, his tone was anything but.

Heart racing, she ducked her head, not yet ready to face him. "Yes, the country." Orihime said simply while trying –but not succeeding, to keep her voice from shaking.

"I thought you weren't welcome at The Hall since your cousin took over the title." His eyes lifted to stare at the starched cap covering her hair like always before dropping to skim down the front of the old dress she wore.

Her hand rose to her chest in sudden embarrassment, well aware the worn fabric of her work dress strained across her full breasts and hips as well as being several years out of style –and a size too small. Orihime shivered as his dark eyes followed the motion of her hand, his gaze sharpening as it settled on the rounded curve of her breast.

Nerves flared to life and her skin tingled. Orihime blushed as a new and unexpected warmth surged through her. "I-I'm not going to Highwell. Sora left me a small hunting lodge in trust just south of Stafford." She said in a nervous rush.

Ichigo's eyes flicked up to hers and she was caught off guard by his intense gaze. However, before she could puzzle out the meaning behind it, he spun on his heel and pretended interest in the garden outside the window.

He restlessly tugged his coat down into place and cleared his throat. "This packing seem excessive for a jaunt to the country." He said while sweeping his arm out toward the bare shelves.

"It's not a trip. I'm –I'm selling this house and retiring to the country."

Ichigo swung around to study her face. "But what about your work at the hospital?"

Orihime squeezed her eyes shut at his question. It hurt more than expected. He understood she'd never abandon her work without good reason. She identified with those children, after all. Not in terms of money or status –those weren't things that really mattered anyway, but loss of family, loneliness, abandonment.

Her father died while she was still small. He was a wastrel by all accounts, breaking his fool neck during a drunken midnight ride. Orihime didn't remember him, only learning about his cruelty and penchant for abuse through the stories of others. Then, she was all but abandoned by her mother, when the countess traveled abroad after her husband's death, leaving behind a three-year-old daughter and her newly titled son to chase after her most recent lover.

Sora, her late brother, took it in stride, shouldered his new responsibilities, and brought the earldom back from the financial brink. He refilled the family coffers and expanded their lands, all the while raising her as if she were his own. He was her rock, her support, she loved him dearly, and his death shattered her safe and secure world.

Orphaned by the only parental figure she ever knew, lost and alone, Orihime had clung to Ichigo before realizing how unfair she was being. The foundling hospital had been her salvation, a chance to stand on her own and continue Sora's work, and unexpectedly, she found a purpose.

But that was now in the past.

She straightened her shoulders and looked at him squarely. "There is no longer any work available to me there."

"What happened?" he started to ask before his eyes cut away and he softly swore. Ichigo understood the situation quite clearly. The hospital no longer wanted their name associated with her for fear of the scandal tainting their name as well. It wasn't fair, but it was something she accepted.

"My offer still stands. I promised –before witnesses, to marry you. Isn't that enough of a reason to stay?"

"Ichigo, we've already talked-"

"No, we didn't." He cut her off and Orihime thought she detected a flash of disappointment in his dark eyes. Was he that unhappy that she refused him? She thought he'd be thrilled to be let off the hook so easily. "Everything happened so fast the other night and we didn't have a chance to talk this out in a rational manner without everyone else chiming in with their opinions." He placed both hands flat of the top of her desk and leaned forward, his eyes serious. "I want to marry you, Orihime."

Closing her eyes, she was aware her heart was beating far too fast for this circumstance. Why did it have to be Ichigo of all men that affected her like this? She needed to put some distance between them.

She pushed away from the chair and stepped back. "When did you start thinking about marriage?" She asked before turning to face the window.

Ichigo stared at her slender back and stiffly held shoulders, and furrowed his brows. Why wouldn't she meet his eyes? "When?" He asked while trying to keep his patience in the face of her continued stubbornness.

"Uh huh." She nodded before speaking over her shoulder, posing her question differently this time. "Were you thinking about marriage while we were in the garden –before a proposal suddenly became imperative?"

"No," he answered honestly, already knowing where she was going with this line of questioning. And Orihime nodded her head in a self-satisfied manner –just like he knew she would, as if he'd just confirmed something she already knew to be true. His mouth thinned. She was not going to write off this proposal too. He was older now –and wiser, he'd use every weapon is his arsenal if need be, starting with …

He moved to stand behind her, his breath purposely teasing the fine curls laying against the back of her neck. "I think you already know marriage wasn't what was on my mind at that moment."

She shivered and spun around to face him, her eyes impossibly wide. Standing silently with only inches separating them, for the first time in their acquaintance conversation didn't come easily. They were both tense, edgy as their thoughts traveled back to what had truly been on their minds at that moment in Lady Carrick's garden. Ichigo watched her from under lowered brows and allowed her to see the heat flaring to life in his eyes, ripe with sexual promise.

Her breath caught in the back of her throat and his gaze dropped to her mouth. Orihime hesitated for only an instant before her hand lifted to slide behind his neck and she rose up on tiptoes. It was all the invitation Ichigo needed. He obeyed the pressure of her small hand and dipped his head to kiss her hard. She opened to him without prompting and he took full advantage of her willing surrender.

His fingers trembled, shook with the need to touch her and his hand skimmed up her arm to cup the back of her head. Ever since that night in his carriage, he dreamed about her hair. He couldn't wait to feel it under his hand again. But first, that infernal cap had to go. The pins securing it in place pulled loose, falling heedlessly to the floor and he crushed the cursed scrap of linen in his fist. He wanted to throw it into the fireplace where it belonged, but her hair falling free distracted him and the cap fell forgotten to the rug as his fingers clenched in the long silky strands.

Raising his mouth from hers, Ichigo kissed her cheek, then her eyes, and the tip of her nose, trying to keep it playful and light as he fought to remain in control. "Hime …" he whispered.

She lifted her gaze to his. Their eyes met and held, silently communicating. In that instant, he saw that she wanted him as much as he wanted her –and it felt right. As if they were always meant to be together like this.

Loosening the reigns of his control, he released her long enough to wrestle out of his coat. Hindered, he silently cursed his penchant for tight-cut clothing before his lips found hers once more as if loathe to leave her for too long. Orihime pressed against him, eagerly returning his kiss as she helpfully pushed his coat from his shoulders. The expensive wool dropped to the floor in a crumpled heap, and was soon joined by his waistcoat.

Her playful laughter at his impatience slowed his motions and he grinned at her abashed. They had time –all the time in the world. There was no reason to rush. It had taken years to get to this point, they could now afford to go slow and savor the moment. The demands of his body wished to skew his good intentions though, and his hands reached for her, sliding from her waist up to just below her breasts.

His thumbs brushed back and forth against the tempting curves even as he counted the number of tiny buttons on the front of her gown. There were five. It would take him only a moment to release them. But before he could act, Orihime lifted her hands and carefully opened the first button, then another as if divining his thoughts. Ichigo looked up for see her nibbling on the edge of her lip before she shockingly tugged his hands up to finish. The corner of his mouth kicked up in a grin and he picked up where she left off, sliding the last three buttons free.

Breathless, her awareness focused, heightened, as his fingers slid across her shoulder as he searched for the ribbons of her chemise. The tiny bow unraveled and he drew the material down to uncover her chest. Ichigo paused, his eyes on hers as he slowly closed his hand over her breast.

Her breathing fractured. His palm grazed the tight bud of her nipple and Orihime gasped. Something clenched deep inside her and all she could hear was her breath, hot and heavy, as Ichigo's fingers firmed. She shuddered under his watchful eyes, feeling the weight of them move over her face as he judged her responses while he touched her willing body.

And she was more than willing, she was exultant. This might be her only chance to be in his arms like this –her one chance to make a memory to last a lifetime. Orihime wasn't going to waste a moment worrying about tomorrow. Today was hers.

Giving herself freely over to the moment, her lips grazed his cheek. The subtle tones of his cologne rose from his heated skin, its scent strengthening as her mouth moved from his jaw to his throat. Her fingers slipped into the knot of his cravat and untied it, allowing the long strip of fabric to hang free. The hand on her breast tensed and Ichigo murmured her name as she dealt with his starched collar and loosened the ties of his shirt. She breathed in the woodsy scent of his skin before laving the hollow at the base of his throat with her tongue.

Ichigo wrested control back from her with a groan and tilted her chin up to capture her lips once more in a searing kiss. She whimpered, her fingers sinking into his shoulders. A new sense of urgency drove her as something tightened within her.

She felt strange.

Odd.

Fantastic.

"Ichigo," She gasped as her hands slid around to press into his muscled back, wanting nothing more than to hold him tight and never let go.

He yanked his shirt free from the waistband of his breeches, and she followed his cue, sliding her hands under the loose hem. The edge of her nails rasped against his skin. His muscles twitched, tensed. He groaned. A thrill raced through her at the sound. He liked her touch. Feeling flush with victory, she set her hands to explore more of his body as Ichigo did the same.

Moments flew by, moments where they teased and tasted, and tormented until her knees weakening and she clung to his broad shoulders with a helpless cry. Ichigo lifted his mouth from where he'd been stringing kisses along her shoulder to meet her eyes. His gaze scorched, burned, and Orihime sagged further, pressing flush against him. She shifted her hips, instinctively seeking to ease this ache, and his eyes flared in response.

In an instant, he swung her up in his arms and carried her across the room to lay her down on the only piece of furniture big enough to support them both. With her bodice and chemise shoved down to her waist and her skirts flipped above her gartered stockings, Orihime tried to keep her hands at her sides while his burning gaze moved up the length of her body.

Her legs moved restlessly against each other as Ichigo pulled his shirt over his head with a jerky motion. Eyes widening at the sight of his bare chest, they widened even more as his hand cupped her right knee and slid up her leg. She panted raggedly when his fingers danced along the edge of her stocking to touch the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Her legs parted at his urging. The couch dipped as he placed a knee between her spread thighs, then slowly lowered himself until his hair-roughened chest brushed against hers.

And on an otherwise unremarkable day in May, Orihime gave her virginity to her best friend on the lumpy brocade settee in her sitting room –and it was magical.

It was everything she imagined it would be. From the dizzying kisses to the sense of wonder and excitement as they explored each other thoroughly in turn, to how his voice and hands shook as his hard body covered hers with frantic urgency. Orihime never wanted it to end –and yet, she wanted to finish, just so they could start all over again.

Later, with their hearts pressed close and racing in time, she idly played with his sweat-dampened hair and Ichigo nuzzled the spot behind her ear while their bodies cooled. Sighing as his lips shifted to brush against her throat, her jaw, her mouth, Orihime held him tight as his mouth settled over hers, feeling more cosseted and content than ever imaginable.

One kiss led to another, then another until the sound of footsteps in the hall drew them apart. Ichigo pushed himself up on one arm, his eyes inscrutable as he looked down at her face. "Get dressed and we'll tell my parents our news." He said before shoving off the couch to reach for his rumpled shirt.

Her eyes watched in fascination as the muscles in his back stretched and flexed as Ichigo quickly pulled his shirt over his head and then buttoned the fall of his breeches.

Ichigo glanced at her from the corner of his eye, already fixing his starched collar in place. "Hurry, or do you need my help?" he asked and then looped his rumpled cravat around his throat.

"No," Her feet swung to the floor and she slowly sat up. "I can manage." She said as the first prickles of unease began to crawl over her exposed skin. Frowning, Orihime tugged her clothing up into place, setting laces and buttons to rights before asking, "W-what news?"

His fingers finished pulling the knot through on his cravat before his eyes shifted to meet hers in the mirror. "That we're getting married, of course."

She stood hurriedly as if pulled to her feet by an invisible hand and smoothed her skirts down. He was doing it again, trying to get his way using any method available to him. Her eyes flicked back to the couch and her cheeks flushed at the telltale smear of blood on the white cover. Orihime's stomach twisted sickly. She never thought Ichigo would stoop to seducing her.

He went too far this time.

"We are not. This-" she swallowed hard and waved a hand towards the settee, "this doesn't change anything."

"Of course it does." He answered shortly and continued to button his waistcoat, barely sparing her a glance.

A glimmer of something flashed in her eyes, some unnamed emotion. "No, it doesn't. Stop trying to protect me." She said and crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

He blinked at her harsh tone. What just happened –was it something he said? Ichigo shook out his coat, giving himself time to reassemble his wits. He'd just made love to his best friend; she should forgive him for not being at his verbal best.

That being said, how was she able to act as if nothing untoward had just occurred? His world had just been rocked off its foundation, and Orihime wanted to continue arguing. Seriously? He shrugged into his coat, taking his time buttoning up the front and resetting his cuffs while Orihime wore a path in the carpet between her desk and the door.

Feeling in control once more now that he was fully dressed, Ichigo let the silence drag out until she finally slowed her steps and faced him. Now, perhaps they could continue this conversation like two rational adults.

"I-I think you should leave, Ichigo."

Or not.

Ichigo stood his ground and said firmly. "Not until I get some answers." She fidgeted, her eyes straying to the door, clearly announcing her desire to escape. "Just tell me, why do you think I want to marry you exactly –to protect you?"

Her gaze swung back to him. She swallowed hard and lifted her chin to boldly meet his eyes. "In part, yes. Plus, you now feel responsible –for some odd reason, for what society would call ruining me fully."

His mouth took on an unpleasant twist. He loved her, so naturally, he wanted to protect her –he wasn't going to contest that, but he would take umbrage to her prod at his honorable behavior. "And what's wrong with taking responsibility? You may already be carrying my child. Did you think of that?"

The hand pushing back her loose hair paused and he watched a whole host of emotions march through her wide expressive eyes. She was silent for the longest time and he almost thought she wasn't going to reply until her hand lowered to touch the area just below her breasts. "But –but it was only this one time. Surely it's not possible." Her eyes searched his in wonder.

A baby, of course. Ichigo's gaze softened as Orihime's fingers continued to trace over her abdomen. It was what she wanted more than anything else. "Once is all it takes sometimes." He said gently, already imagining her growing ripe with his child …and Ichigo was shocked by just how much he wanted that to become reality. "We can't take a chance with something like this, marriage is the only answer."

Her hand dropped to hang limply at her side even as she paled. "That's an even worse reason to get married than before."

"What? Why is that such a horrible reason?"

"You just don't understand."

Her eyes pleaded with him. For what, he wasn't certain –other than for him to drop the subject of marriage and children entirely. Ichigo was sorry to upset her further, but he couldn't back down on this.

"No …" he stared at her, lost and confused by her continued illogical refusals. "No, I don't understand. You would rather our child be born a bastard than marry me?"

Orihime's mouth opened and closed soundlessly before she waved her hand in a sharp gesture of dismissal. "It doesn't matter –none of this matters, the whole conversation is hypothetical. There is no child."

"You don't know-"

"Even if there is, I'm leaving for the country tomorrow; no one would ever have to know."

No one would have to know? He shook his head in utter disbelief. Did that include him too? She was so familiar, but he was beginning to wonder if he really knew her at all. Taking a deep breath, fighting for a calm he didn't feel, Ichigo knew he was going to have to stay in control and not let his temper get the best of him –even though that's exactly what he wanted to do.

"You told me yourself a month ago that you wanted to get married –to whom, it didn't matter as long as he would give you children."

A tense silence enveloped the room until she finally whispered "yes".

"Then, there's no problem, I can –we just …" He clamped his jaw shut to stop his nervous stammering and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen to me, Orihime, I-"

"No emotional entanglements." She blurted out suddenly, her voice rising with a note of hysteria.

His head jerked up and he took an automatic step forward. She held a trembling hand out to stop him from getting any closer as tears welled up in her eyes.

"That's the problem, Ichigo. I didn't plan on being emotionally attached to my spouse. Fond of, yes. So it didn't matter if he loved me or not. B-but you-" she sucked in a shaky breath, her bottom lip quivering "you're special, and that's why I will not trap you in a loveless marriage."

Ichigo made no outward reaction –none at all, even though her words sliced like a knife, cutting him where it hurt the most. She didn't love him. With their recent actions being what they were, he'd begun to hope, but now …

His hands curled into fists at his side, his mouth held tight. Orihime stopped with her hand resting on door latch and looked back. Pride stopped him from admitting the true scope of his feelings –his vulnerability. She didn't know. She had no idea he worshipped her. And she never would –all because he couldn't stand the thought of seeing pity cloud her lovely brown eyes.

So he kept quiet …and she left.

**~o0o~**

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update, thank you for your continued patience. I wrote this chapter while going through quite possibly two of the worst months in my life –and considering how old am I, that's saying something. Writing this was wonderfully therapeutic and a chance to escape real life troubles for a while, so I truly hope you all enjoy it.

As always, thanks so much for reading. –Rairakku


	7. Chapter 7

**Schemes vs. Seduction **

Chapter Seven: An Idiot Emerges

Bleach; Ichihime AU Regency England

Word Count: 3486

Warning: minor cursing

Disclaimer: all characters herein are the property of Kubo Tite.

*Amazing fanart for this project was created by the wonderfully talented Child of the Ashes

child-of-the-ashes. deviantart art/ FLOL-Fanwork-Challenge-Rework-298798101 (remove the spaces)

**~o0o~**

Amid the retort of gunshots and murmurs of scandalized speculation, Ichigo twisted his lips into a scowl and groused that maybe Maton's wasn't the best place for him right now. Angelo's would have been the more practical way to burn off some frustrations -Gentleman Jackson's would've sufficed, too.

However, neither swordplay, nor fisticuffs, was recommended when ones thoughts were clearly elsewhere. It was a good way to get himself killed.

No more than he deserved, some would say.

Ichigo accepted a freshly loaded pistol from a wary attendant. He tested the weight of it, letting the polished wooden grip settle into the palm of his hand and sighed. He deserved this –the rude stares, the pitying whispers, the intrusive notoriety, all because he seduced his friend -his best friend, in an attempt to get his way.

Death would be a kindness at this point.

Since yesterday afternoon, equal measures of guilt and despair consumed him. He clasped his left hand over the top of the gun, gliding his gloved fingers over the polished barrel. Once again, he used action when he should have used words.

Ichigo took a deep breath and slowly released it, letting go of some of his tension before raising the pistol to take aim. Although truth be told, for the first time in days, his mother was the one on his mind more so than Orihime ...or more accurately put, it was her words earlier this morning. Something she said continued to puzzle him, it didn't fit with what he already knew –or at least, believed, to be true.

It was only a few hours ago when Masaki regally swept through his doorway like the countess she was with the news that Orihime had indeed closed up her house and left town. He'd expected his mother to ring a peal over his head and give him his marching orders to go after her –not say she was sorry.

Even now, Ichigo remembered how his eyes flew wide -his mother, apologizing? Seeing her squirm with such a guilty look on her face was something he took no pleasure in, and he was quick to tell her there was nothing for her to be sorry over.

"Yes, there is." His mother said staunchly before turning her eyes away to murmur. "I meddled."

"You …you what?" He'd goggled. Perhaps there was a good reason for her apology after all.

"Meddled." His mother repeated a bit louder and turned to smile beatifically at him. "It's a force of habit when it comes to my children, really." She said without a hint of her prior apology coloring her tone, and he had sighed, knowing it to be true.

She'd then ordered his man, Timmons, to prepare a tray before sweeping into his front parlor. His mother sat on the small sofa placed in front of the double windows overlooking Mount Street, looking like she was settling in for a long confession. He followed with hesitation, not certain he wanted to hear to what extent she had meddled in his life –especially if it involved Orihime.

Once provisioned with freshly brewed tea and biscuits, Masaki admitted, without an ounce of chagrin, that she was the one who planted the idea of having children into Orihime's mind.

_Bloody hell._

Ichigo's tea had gone cold as he listened in horrified silence as she explained how she and Isshin wanted more grandchildren, and she decided to move things along by finding him a wife. Grandchild weren't all they wanted though, Masaki was quick to assure him, his happiness mattered too.

She didn't have to look far for a likely candidate, she said with a laugh. No sooner did she and his father begin talking about finding him a suitable wife than Orihime stopped by to return a shawl she borrowed the night before at their outing to Covent Garden.

"How serendipitous." His mother exclaimed, looking quite pleased with herself. She smiled at him fondly for a minute before shaking her head with a sigh. "And then you had the bad form to leave Town for three long months."

His mother then informed him that while he was in the country, she took it upon herself to start spending more time with Orihime. Masaki talked of showing her portraits of him, Karin and Yuzu as infants, peppering their conversation with amusing heartwarming stories from their childhood, and inviting Orihime to join her when visiting Yuzu –and Yuzu's chubby-cheeked baby.

Of course, this was all subtly done. Masaki would never wish for Orihime to feel pressured or coerced in any way.

It was never an issue though; his mother assured him with a light tap on his tense arm as she came to sit beside him. Orihime was the maternal type and quite taken with the idea of having a child of her own –especially if her baby had beautiful orange hair and expressive brown eyes. Her words –not mine, his mother had laughed and tapped him on the arm yet again, almost beside herself with glee while he stared at her speechless.

"Although, my schemes resulted in such a mess, I still have only the highest hopes for you two."

His mother then said something that threw his well-defined world into chaos …

"Especially seeing how Orihime's been head over heels in love with you for the last decade."

Ichigo still could picture his front parlor in exact minute detail the moment his mother spoke those words. Time seemed to stop. Things he never noticed before suddenly stood out, demanding him to acknowledge their presence. A bowl of shells sat in the corner. Sunlight illuminated a fanciful blown glass sphere. The breeze blew through the window and flicked the pages of a slim leather bound volume he was reading earlier. They were all gifts he'd amassed over the years –mementos from trips they took, shopping expeditions, and items Orihime found and thought he'd like.

His mother continued to talk and he listened with half an ear as he looked around the room with new eyes. Ichigo was able to pick out Orihime's unique touch everywhere in his home. She knew him so well that he didn't even hesitate to accept her help when he took out the lease on this townhouse. The furniture in the room picked out with his tastes in mind, the art on the wall, even the embroidered handkerchief in his pocket were in thanks to Orihime taking care of him.

But that didn't mean she loved him. His mother was mistaken. Orihime treated all her friends this way. He was nothing special.

"You are an idiot."

The dark paneled room at Maton's came back into focus at Renji's dry jibe. Ichigo scowled. He'd been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't even heard his friend arrive. "Thank you for stating your opinion." He said and refocused on the target before adding, "You can leave now" and slowly squeezed his finger on the trigger.

The retort was deafening, but his shot went wide, barely nicking the paper target.

"Awful luck." Renji chuckled and waved another attendant to bring him a brace of pistols. "Were you even trying or has your most recent bout of idiocy ruined your aim." He asked as he checked the sights on the pistol presented for his use.

"And how am I being an idiot?"

Renji moved to the line and took his shot –less than an inch from centre, before he answered simply with a superior smirk curling his lips. "You let her leave."

"I didn't let her." Ichigo stressed the word 'let' while barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes at his clueless friend. "Orihime is a woman grown, she made the decision herself. What was I to do, tie her up and keep her locked away until she was ready to listen to reason?"

The corner of Renji's wide mouth twitched. "I don't know, it sounds like a wholly interesting way to hold a conversation with a beautiful woman."

Indeed it did. Ichigo could feel hot color climbing in his cheeks and turned back to the line to take his next shot. He blocked out Renji's teasing laughter with ease –but the tempting mental vision of Orihime tied to the polished cherry wood supports of his four-poster bed would not be so easily ignored.

His hand shook as he raised it to take aim. He'd always been susceptible to Orihime –Ichigo accepted that, and had learned over the years how to hide his reaction to her. However, since he touched her that night in his darkened carriage, kissed her in Carrick's garden, made sweet love with her on that rickety sofa, his defenses were now shattered –useless, and he couldn't find his prior façade of calm.

"I don't understand how you two were brought to this point anyway." Renji interrupted his internal monologue and leaned an elbow on the divider –all hints of his earlier levity now gone. "I'm well aware of your feelings, and it's patently obvious to everyone that Orihime is head over heels in love with you, so-"

His finger unconsciously tightened on the trigger. "Wrong." Ichigo said through clenched teeth and dropped his hand to his side, pointing the loaded weapon harmlessly at the floor. What was it with people today, first his mother, now Renji?

"Orihime was more than clear when she said she wouldn't trap me in a loveless marriage." Ichigo's nostrils flared as he stated through clenched teeth. "Ergo, she doesn't love me as _everyone_ seems to think she does."

"See, here's where you're being an idiot." Ichigo shot his friend a nasty look from under lowered brows, one Renji returned full force before stating. "Did it ever occur to you that she doesn't want to trap you in a marriage with someone you don't love?"

His face blanked and he turned to blink questioningly at Renji.

"Orihime doesn't know you're in love with her."

Ichigo stood frozen for moment before exploding. "B-but how can she not know?" He threw his hands up, causing the attendant to squeak in fright as he waved the pistol through the air.

"Well, did you actually tell her?" Renji asked drolly and forced Ichigo's arm down until the weapon was pointing at the floor once more.

He pulled away from Renji's restraining hand and shifted his eyes to the side. "I thought all women were intuitive when it came to these matters."

Renji scoffed at his asinine statement. "It's your own fault, you know."

Ichigo made a dismissive sound while handing off the loaded pistol to the relieved attendant, his mind no longer on target practice. "How is this my fault?"

"If you weren't so bloody concerned with your image you wouldn't have all these outlandish stories following you around. It's no wonder Orihime's confused."

"My image is none of your concern."

Renji waved away the hovering attendant, assuring them some privacy before going on the attack. "It is my concern when you've elevated being phony into an art form and hurt a dear friend of mine –all for the sake of your infernal pride."

"So says the man who won't commit to the woman he's loved since they were children due to social standing and inheritance issues."

His nose flaring was the only sign Ichigo's jibe struck home, however, Renji ignored it and said, "You may not have started those first rumors all those years ago, that opera singer, Rangiku, she seen to that as a way to boost her popularity-"

"Don't remind me." Ichigo groaned. He'd been so deep in his cups after his bungled proposal and subsequent argument with Orihime, that most the night remained a blur. All he could remember of the Nightingale of Haymarket was her singsong voice as she plied him with sickeningly sweet red wine –that, and the most enormous pair of breasts he has ever seen in his life.

It was not a good memory.

By the time he woke the next afternoon, with a splitting headache and a horrid taste in his mouth as if he swallowed half the Thames, the news of his drunken carousing with the opera star had already made the rounds through the ton –and Orihime didn't care enough to ask if the outrageous rumors were true. She ignored it, along with every other future fight, challenge, race, wager, and indiscretion linked to his name. That is until a few weeks ago, while riding in the park, when she questioned his character and believed him to be as black as the rumors painted him.

He was not going to lie, that still stung to this day. Orihime knew him better than almost anyone else did, she should know better than to believe the things whispered about him so readily.

Renji called him back to the discussion at hand by dropping his pistol to the table with a clatter. "Too bad, I'm going to remind you. I know you're not as disreputable as everyone believes, but for some reason you continue to encourage these rumors and play the wastrel.

"Beautiful women flock to your side in droves, but that's as far as it goes." He held out a commanding hand when Ichigo would have interrupted. "I'm not saying you're as pure as driven snow, but I do know for a fact that you spend an inordinate amount of time at home in front of your hearth or playing cards with Mizuiro, Keigo, and Chad at the club."

"Enough."

Renji shook his head and scowled. "No, it's not. What is it you're trying to accomplish with this charade, Ichigo? Whose benefit is it all for?"

"I said enough." A nerve twitched at the corner of his eye.

"It's because of Orihime, isn't it? You're punishing her."

"What? You're mad."

"No, I think I've finally figured it out. This madness started after Sora died, when you and Orihime had that huge falling-out."

"You don't know what you're talking about" Ichigo ground out, his eyes flashing a warning to cease.

Renji ignored the warning and instead looked at him with dawning realization. "I hauled your drunken arse home that night. No matter what the rumours said, nothing happened between you and that opera singer. Then, you returned to Oxford in a snit without a word to anyone –not even telling Orihime goodbye. For two years, there wasn't a breath of scandal attached to your name -or there wasn't until you came back to town and had another stupid argument with Orihime.

"Within a week, your name was linked to several of the less than chaste wives littering the ton, countless foolish wagers placed on the books at White's, and a shockingly dangerous carriage ride through town."

Ichigo turned his back on his friend, wishing he could disappear as Renji continued.

"I was there then too, Ichigo. I know that most of that didn't happen –or at least, it didn't happen to you. The wagers came about due to Keigo and Mizuiro making idiotic bets on your future. Then, there was Keigo trying his hand at driving Mizuiro's new high perch phaeton down Park Lane that resulted with you and Chad having to save him before he broke his fool neck.

"And the rumors concerning those married women are ridiculous to anyone that knows you. You're too fastidious to dally with such indiscreet, obvious, and -not to mention, unfaithful women. Now Mizuiro on the other hand …"

Silence dragged out between them, his lies were laid bare. He'd carefully built up his image for years and to see Renji disassemble it so easily was disheartening to say the least. If Renji –who is well-known for being less than observant, was able to see through his façade, who else knew he was a fraud.

"God, you're hopeless." Renji blasphemed in exasperation. "If you wanted Orihime to pay attention to you, you should have just told her."

His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. No sooner did something clever come to mind, and Ichigo would force the words back before saying anything to justify his behavior. It all sounded like nothing but insipid excuses anyway. He would rather stay silent than allow Renji to mock his weak defense.

Renji sighed, a deep frustrated sound, and plowed his gloved fingers through his hair, loosening the queue containing the long scarlet strands. "Well, if this isn't a Cheltenham tragedy, I don't know what is. You, my friend, should have just told Orihime you loved her, instead of carrying out this farce for all these years."

He dropped his gaze to the floor. Yes, he was an idiot. Ichigo swallowed thickly and stated lamely, "I shouldn't have had to say anything, she should've known."

"Do you really believe that …or are you honestly that dense?"

Ichigo jerked his head to the side to see Lord Bletchley standing just inside the booth.

"Your reputation notwithstanding, it's clear you have a lot to learn about women, Kurosaki."

His cheeks flushed as Renji burst into laughter at the viscount's jibe. "Shove off. I didn't ask for your opinion. And you," he rounded on his scarlet haired friend, "quit laughing; you sound like an asthmatic monkey."

"Don't get your back up, Kurosaki." Lord Bletchley pushed away from the wall and stepped out of the shadows. "While I did come here with the intention of issuing you a challenge in place of Lady Orihime's brother," Ian paused, his pale blue eyes studying Ichigo's face, "it seems I've changed my mind."

"Why?"

"For several reasons actually. Something your father said to me has been plaguing me of late …as does what I just overheard." Ian walked to the wooden divider and observed him quietly, letting the tension expand and become uncomfortable before asking, "Do you sincerely wish to marry Lady Orihime?"

"Err…" Ichigo shifted from foot to foot and rubbed the back of his head, clearly stalling. "I don't see how that is any of your concern."

"Quit being a bloody fool and answer me."

His eyes went wide at the older man's aggravated tone and he answered without thought. "Yes. Of course, I want to marry her."

"Good. Then I'll grant you a reprieve of one week to get Lady Orihime to accept your suit."

"A week?"

Bletchley nodded in affirmation and returned to his spot near the door.

Ichigo's eyes hardened. "Is that a threat?"

"No, it's a promise. If, after that time, she still won't accept you, I will bring Lady Orihime back to her rightful place among the ton, as my wife."

The room was a blur as Ichigo spun on his heel to face the viscount. "You're in love with her too?" He blurted out in shock, his voice and hands shaking.

A smug smile curled a corner of his thin mouth as Bletchley crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall as if settling to watch an entertaining show. "No, but I am fond of her."

Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, fighting against the tension pounding in his temples. There was that detestable word again. Fond. What a tepid emotion. It didn't do justice to Orihime in the least. She was imaginative and excitable, eager and passionate …so very passionate.

No. Enough was enough.

"I won't let you marry her." He lifted his head and stared Bletchley down. "Orihime deserves more than a cold marriage of convenience."

The viscount shrugged his shoulders in reply. "We can argue about this later …or did you forget that you're supposed to try changing someone else's mind first."

A slow smile pulled at the edges of Renji's mouth while he watched Ichigo wordlessly retrieve his coat. "And where are you going in such a tearing hurry?"

"To see my mother." It was time to swallow his pride; it was obvious he needed help.

Renji's face fell at his unexpected answer. "You're …" his confused gaze flicked to Bletchley and back to Ichigo, "you're not going to see Orihime?"

Ichigo straightened his cuffs and tugged his coat into place. Orihime might not be ready to see him yet, or even want to listen to his excuses. He expected that. It was no more than he deserved after how he treated her tender heart.

He took a deep breath and shook his head in the negative to Renji's question. "But I will." He promised. His mother was sure to have a plan.

Bletchley stared at him in consideration before demanding, "When?"

Brown eyes met blue. "Soon." Ichigo said simply, not looking away from his rival as an unspoken message passed between them.

Ichigo saluted the two men with a quick tip of his hat and spun on his heel. He was a man on a mission. He wouldn't let Orihime push him out of her life again –at least not without a fight this time.

It was time for Ichigo Kurosaki to scheme.

**~o0o~**

A/N: Yes, I know it's been almost nine months since I posted the last chapter. A lot has happened to me in this last year and I am extremely grateful for everyone's patience in waiting for an update. This fandom is truly the greatest.

There's only one chapter left for this story -and maybe a short epilogue. I then plan to move down the list to another of my unfinished fics and work on completing some of my stories before I start anything new. Any suggestions as to which fic I work on next are more than welcome.

As always, thanks for reading. ~Rariakku


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